1: Aversion

1: Aversion

Entry #245:

Fear is an aversion.

Whatever it is, it always takes root deep in the mind. Spiders, snakes, open spaces, closed spaces. They’re all aversions. It’s only natural for the human mind to find an aversion to something. Though sometimes, fear can be harnessed. Sometimes, you can create fear right out of the minds of any victim. Rattle the cages, split some bones and/or draw blood and you’ll probably get a scream or two. It’s a beautiful, harmonious cacophony of chaos that emanates through these hallowed, sewer halls. It’s paradise; heaven on this damned city on a damned earth. Screams bring comfort. In this living, breathing dystopia, these screams are peace amongst the chaos above. I like to believe I’m bringing these people their salvation. One cut, bash or abuse at a time.

***

The lights flickered at four second intervals. When they darkened, the lights from the sewer grates shone what they could. Still, the incandescent and neon of the city above presented no real means of illumination in these sewers. It was dark, moist and repugnant; this sewer system had not been maintained for years - nor was it ever maintained at all - and now it was home to freakishly huge rats, roaches and whatever horror may lurk in the muck.

A little girl dressed in dirty rags huddled up to her brother, clutching at his cold, pale skin. He seemed quiet, she thought. She assured herself that he was just asleep; that soon, he’ll wake up and help her calm down. After all, his arm was around her, holding on to her just as she was holding on to him.

The little girl nuzzled her brother’s arm and listened to the sounds echoing from the darkness beyond their little space in the sewers. She could hear the hushed whispers of other people nearby. They posed no threat, or at least as far as they could tell. From time to time, she could hear what seemed like a scream - a high pitched tone - coming from farther down the sewers. She couldn’t tell where it came from, but it haunted her dreams each passing night. Each dream consisted of some man coming from the shadows, wearing an apron of sorts. He had nothing in his hands except for rubber gloves stained with some dark reddish spots. He would come every night, count whoever sat around the sewer chamber and left with whoever slept. The curious part was that whoever was being dragged away continued to sleep. They did not complain or move. Instead, they let themselves be dragged away.

Each night, the same scene played out. Each night the little girl could only watch as the man went away with the sleeping people. They would never take away her brother, she thought. He wouldn’t leave her to the dark. She clutched his arm tighter; not a single stir.

It was awhile before she realized that she couldn’t hear his heartbeat; a source of comfort for her each passing day and night. She panicked and tried to wake him up. His skin was cold to the touch.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized her brother was asleep. He would be taken away soon.

“Right there,” said a voice. The girl turned and moved aside. There was nothing she could do now. Head bowed, she watched as the aproned man came with two other men. She watched as they hoisted her brother up and took him away into the dark sewer halls. Others who had taken up residence near her offered some words of sympathy or comfort, but it meant little to none now. Words were as empty, void of any real sense of comfort unlike her brother’s heartbeat.

Silent, she took her brother’s old notebook. It had a few pages filled recounting the twenty days since they had been kicked out and left for dead by a drunken father. Her brother had covered her as their father beat down on him with a rusted pipe. After the ordeal, he had carried her down into the sewers, ignoring his bruises and cuts.

Now he was gone. Whatever was left of a quaint, cozy world was now a claustrophobic nightmare.

The girl turned to the empty twenty-first page, took her brother’s pencil and began to write:

Entry #1:

He’s gone. I’m all alone now. I’m afraid. Help me.