Michael

It could be a story of who could be a hero or a villain.

I would like to warn you before you continue to read this. What I would like to warn is that whatever you will read is not pleasant for the faint hearted or those looking for a happy ending. So if you are looking for one, I would tell you to stop reading right now and put this down before you’d regret anything. However if you are stubborn you will ignore my warning much less continue on reading this. Then go ahead read whatever it is that my twisted mind wanted me to write one last time. I promise you that it is a story of pain and a mix of fantasies but as you continue on the definition of fantasy might not meet your or portray whatever it is you are thinking of at the moment.

 

I have given you my warning but it looks as if you had chosen to read ahead. Now if you prefer not to read on then good for you, but if yes good luck in your sleep because you will need it.

 

I still remember. I’d always remember, no matter what I do or how many therapy meetings my parents would put me through or the drugs they give me I’ll never forget. It was five years ago, I was 12 and for a twelve year old boy it scarred me for life. The gun shots, the screams of innocent people and all the crying. Every day of every night during my kidnap, it’s hard to erase it from my brain.

 

Why was I kidnapped? I don’t know.

 

I was at school then a black SUV pulled over and dragged me inside. The news always said to look out for a white SUV so I guess they were wrong. Apparently I wasn’t the only one inside; there were 16 year olds of both genders and only a few who looked about my age. I didn’t understand why they took us, they took me in broad daylight I was surprised there were no witnesses. Maybe there were but chose to ignore it (why would they do that?).

 

The people who took us were sick people; they sexually abused the girls and asked the boys to do the same in front of them. If you refuse, you die. Only one of us did and then they shot him right in the mouth, it was a bloody sight I still have nightmares of that to this day.

 

The only thing that somehow kept me sane was counting the days of what was left to be my life. I counted 8 months and 2 weeks. But I guess the aftermath of everything was just as bad as the experience itself. Who wouldn’t get traumatized?

 

During the last two weeks, we planned for escape. There were 10 of us, it was a hard number to get us all out but it was better to take a chance at running for it rather than staying.

 

It was late at night, after giving them their usual show we all planned to flee from our torturers. It sounded easy coming out of our mouths and using our imagination but the process was hard. We all slept in one cramped up room with no light not even a window for air just one door and the cold cemented floor. It was hard to sleep if any of us actually tried sleeping anyway.

 

One of us he was 14 I think if my memory serves me right his name was Chris. He planned the escape, he said during one of the usual entertainment time he noticed that our torturers never locked the door that lead to the outside world and our freedom. I guess they thought were too dumb and scared to notice. So the plan was simple while they were sleeping we would quietly get out and head for the exit.

 

How hard can that be right?

 

We managed to do it; they slept like rocks and looked like pigs. What we did not expect was the wired fence that surrounded the area. Also that we were in the middle of nowhere, none of us saw any car or truck passing bye. It was just the dead silence of the night and the light from the moon and stars.

 

That was when I heard a gunshot. Then another…

 

I looked over my shoulder and saw Chris bleeding on the ground, 9 out of 10. I saw one of our torturers holding a gun ready to shoot anyone.

 

“Who else would care to leave?” he threatened. We all exchanged glances, should we go back? “Well?!” he screamed his finger at the trigger.

 

That was when panic arose as 3 or maybe 4 of the others started running towards the fence to climb out. He shot one of them, 8 out of ten. Then another but she didn’t even made it to the fence, 7 out of ten.

 

While I stayed in the middle of it all.

 

I was too afraid to escape and too afraid to go back. Apparently 2 of us went back; they didn’t want to die and chose torture instead. 5 out of ten. I do know there were two who actually made it out; I knew the moment the torturer screamed so many cuss words I never knew.

 

3 out of ten

 

Escape or torture or death, my only three choices and I chose death out of the three because even if I do try to escape I might die in the process which was worth it. I ran as fast as I could towards the fence, I heard a few gun shots but the only thing my mind told me was to remember and to run.

 

Adrenaline rushed through me, the thought of freedom and then thoughts of tears, blood and all the things they made me do. The angrier I got and that was when I made it to the fence and started climbing. Escape was the only thought in my brain once I made it to the other side.

 

Free! My head screamed freedom at last! I ran further away happiness inside of me. Then blackness and pain overwhelmed me.

 

My body felt as if it was being crushed. I woke up with the smell of bleach, salt and metal; I knew I was in the hospital the moment a group of doctors huddled around me checking my reflex and pulse to see if I was still alive. I was barely awake to feel anything, I thought I was dead. I smiled at the thought. 

 

Until a familiar voice woke me through her excessive sobbing, she yelled my name wrapping her arms around me. How I longed for the moment for my mother to hug me again even if her tears were stinging my wounds. Behind her was my father his eyes as red and as swollen as my mothers’. He smiled at me and he looked stiff as he got closer, he didn’t hug me he just stood there. He was happy to see me, they both were. The last thing a parent would want is to out live their child.

 

It sounds like a beautiful ending doesn’t it? The boy who was tortured and forced to rape finally back in the arms of warmth and love. Like I said earlier this story doesn’t have happy endings so save your smile for something better.

 

The aftermath was what bothers me. According to my doctors I was dead for about 15 minutes. They were about to end it themselves until my pulse came back. They called it a miracle. What a miracle it was.

 

Because I prefer that I died in that moment. The feeling of freedom faded the moment I saw flashing lights, sure it could’ve been a car or a truck but I saw it as death and hope. Funny how I saw them as something the same, what use was freedom when I feel like I can no longer be sane? Or if I have to live with those memories? If I died 15 minutes why didn’t those memories die as well?

 

The doctors told my parents the only side effect would be insomnia and nightmares, but they never said how long that would last. My therapist told them, it would be hard for me to adjust after the whole experience. Boy was he right. Try spending 8 months and 2 weeks, trapped by darkness doing unspeakable of things to stay alive. You’d wish you were dead.

 

I not only had nightmares, I see dead bodies everyday the moment I close my eyes my head would flash me those gruesome memories and the girl’s screaming. The boys screaming, the blood and the gunshots, everything just kept coming back even when it was over I felt as if I was still living it.

 

Sure I tried to block those memories but every time I see a girl or even a black SUV I’d make the run for it. I’d cry and pray to the Lord just to end my life so these thoughts could disappear. I barely talked to anyone, I didn’t like the world. I hated reality.

 

But at least this time, I’ll never see the world again in such a 3D view. I’d be seeing it through glass, I can see you but you can’t see me.

 

So after 5 years of nothing but visions of death, you’ll find me lying inside a coffin as people cry over me. This could have been a beginning for a psychotic killer or the beginning for a hero looking for redemption but instead it is an end.

 

Maybe this was a happy ending, dying. Fading into nothingness, my name is Michael by the way. I was 12 when I was kidnapped, but I finally escaped from it when I was 17 because even if I was living my life again everything felt too far away. Like I said, death was better than the two other options.

 

 

Goodbye

Author's Note

Any review or feedback will be great. This is not based on true events whatsoever.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I like the story. You left a lot of separation in the story. You could extend the story and fill in the empty part. The five years being locked-up left the reader with questions. I like the character. The main character had a real life feel to thoughts and struggle. I wanted to know and read more. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote