Chapter 1: Running Away Under Skies of Gray

 

            “Run! Faster!” My mind tells me. “Hurry! Before he catches up to you!”

 

 So tell me, where do you think I am? What do you think I’m doing? Am I at a track meet? Am I playing tag? You didn’t think I would reveal things to you that easy did you? Pity. Everyone thinks that things are going to be told to them strait forward. That’s what you expect. Things should always be in plain view for you, never hidden, just for your convenience of course.

 

 Well, if you haven’t already, you need to learn that life is in no way convenient or strait forward. Everything is as a secret to decode. Take the hints and clues, piece them together and you still may not find the answer. You can file them, study them, spend every ounce of your time trying to fit them together, I don’t care, your may still have no success in solving your enticing mystery. You may work at it for the rest of you life and still not know. You may die not knowing.
 
            Now after you’ve learned that, I may feel better about being upfront with you about what I’m doing, where I am. Keep in mind, I’m letting you off easy.

 

 At the moment I am in my tiny excuse for a bedroom. The wallpaper from the last owners or maybe the ones before or the ones before or before, is peeling. I will never know who put that wallpaper on. An unsolvable mystery as I was telling you about before. I will never know who had such bad taste in decorating. All I know now is that I have to leave. Now. No later. That’s no mystery.

 

 I frantically look under my bed for my box. My box with the only things in it that have meaning to me in my life. I find it inconveniently under a pile of clothes and old school papers. I couldn’t risk Greg finding it. That would be the death of me.

 

 I pull a Publix bag open and stuff the box in. I also stuff a jacket and a bottle of water into it.

 

 The bag’s handles start to stretch and I knew it wouldn’t last me long.

 

“Alice, hurry it up! I don’t have time for this nonsense!” I tell myself.

 

Despite my lack of time, I unpack my things and place them in a real bag-my school bag that I’ve had since fifth grade. It was ripping at the seams but it would have to do.

 

 My adrenalin is now pumping. I can literally feel my blood rush through my veins.

 

 My mind is screaming at me “Run! Get out of there NOW! Hurry! Get your precious bag and get OUT of there!” But of course my body is telling me otherwise.

 

My body is tired. Insomnia has been a wretched, regular visitor of mine over these last few months. I am exhausted. I guess I should be use to it by now, but is that really even possible?

 

 My legs don’t want to move. They want to rest. They need to rest. After a day like this they need to rest for a good ten to twelve hours like the health books say, but I don’t get to do that. I’m not a normal 16 year old girl. I don’t have friends. I don’t want friends. I don’t like to socialize. I don’t go to parties. I am alone. I am alone when I’m not getting a beating from Greg who is now -brace yourself...and me- my legal guardian.

 

 I thrust my bag over my shoulder and it leaves me with a million aches sprinting through the length of my arm. I’m glad to find that the weight isn’t bad on my shoulders.

 

If it’s possible to run in this box sized excuse for a room, I am running. I am to the wooden door, preparing to kick it of its hinges.

 

You see, Greg, he is a cautious man. He is wise in ways that are anything but wise. He can’t risk me getting out of the house to tell the police -or anyone- about the true him. The real Greg H. Hives.

 

He waits for me at the bus stop and walks me home each day. Seems like a nice parent, right? Walking his daughter home, even though she is perfectly capable of doing so alone. How loving. What a kind man. I have burning disgrace on anyone who had those thoughts.

 

The real reason he must walk me home is to make sure I make no stops along the way and to make sure I speak to no one. No one at all.

 

Once he gets me in the house he first verbally abuses me which –more times than not- escalates to physical abuse. He will hurt me places that can easily be hidden under clothes.

 

After his unnecessary tantrum, he locks me in this room until he’s ready for dinner, then I am let free to serve him.

 

He has my windows bordered shut which make it impossible for a small girl like me to manage to break through. The outside of my door has three locks on it. Three locks with thick, restraining chains of metal keeping me locked in this horrible place that is assumed to be my home by all the neighbors and such who Greg greets joyfully while walking me to and from the bus stop.

 

So how is a lanky girl not an inch over five foot two going to break down this barrier keeping her from life? I look into things. I am perceptive. I plan things. I force those pieces together until they work. I keep telling myself, if I want to make Mommy proud I have to get through situations such as this. That keeps me going. I would do anything to make her proud. Though I’m suffering from a complete demolishment of self esteem –from Greg of course-, I am able to dig up enough confidence to keep me going. I manage to scrounge up just enough confidence to solve the mystery of how to get out of this place alive.

 

Last Monday I was making dinner for Greg. He seemed to be more distracted lately. Probably because he’s busy thinking up ideas for his next scam. That’s what Greg does. He scams people out of money. That’s how he gets his money. That and Mommy’s life insurance. Anyway, I knew I needed to take advantage of this moment. It doesn’t come often. He is usually very focused on keeping me in check. I decided it was a good idea to take something from the drawer next to the stove. I was never sure why he kept a drawer full of tools in the kitchen, but I will be forever thankful that he did.

 

My heart was racing like the speeding bullet Greg threatened so many times to shoot through my head. When I finally found the nerve, I surreptitiously pulled the drawer open and quickly grabbed the first thing that I could get my quivering hands on and wedged it between my jeans and lower stomach. I then took off my jacket and tied it around my waist.

 

Long story short, I got away with it.

 

Thankfully, the three locks that Greg put on my door are all latches so I can open the door about four inches.

 

After I could hear the    rumble of sleep in his chest two nights ago, I slowly and carefully cracked my door open. I could hardly see crease of the metal links that linked together to form the chains that keep me locked in this room. Though it was dreadfully hard to see, I took the pliers and tried to stretch the links apart without letting it look obvious what I had done.

 

Now the links are just loose enough for me to break through, but if I don’t get moving, I may never escape.

 

As I run towards the door I raise me foot up and it slams into the door.

 

It doesn’t budge.

 

Oh, God, no. Please no. Please, please no.

 

I try again with such force that I slam against the wall outside my room. It hurt, but the reality of being out of that room overpowered it and I spring back up like a reflex and run towards the back door.

 

 The toe of my once red converse sinks into the sludgy earth. It reminds me of how much I hate it here.

 

 Here in Mayfort, Washington it never stops raining. Every now and then it stops, but that was barely ever. The ground is always muddy and slimy. I can’t stand it.

 

 Why we had to move here is all because of Greg. Greg, the man who ruined my past, present and future.

 

 My real father died when I was too young to remember and I’m glad I don’t remember. My mom use to tell me about how great he was. How much he loved me. I guess I don’t believe in ghosts because if he was as wonderful as my mom told me, he would surely be haunting Greg for all he’s put me through.
 
            So, where’s my mom you ask? Well, you don’t waste anytime do you? That is a good thing I must say. Don’t let time escape you. Every moment you waste is time that is going into weaving a rope together. Waist your time and you’ll be hanging dead before you know it.

 

 Lesson taught? Okay. Anyways about my mother...she died a year ago. One year from today to be exact. She was buried back in Florida. The place I grew up.  The place where I am heading.

 

 My sneakers have just gotten a taste of what they will be enduring for who knows how long. For the ten seconds they’ve left the horrid house, my sorry excuse for a home, they have been covered in mud. Not the best way to start my new life but it is what it is.

 

 I make my way quietly around the house that I am forbidden to leave. I did nothing to deserve to have to always be locked up in that tiny room. It wasn’t fair. But then again, neither is life.

 

 I guess you should know about the note. You must be wondering anyway. Well first maybe I should tell you about Greg. Who he is. What kind of person he is. Why I hate him and why a have an extreme right to.

Reviews

[Wassim Ausem]

I've got to say, the way you keep reading the readers mind is a gift. You engage us, pull us into the story and use our voice to tell your narrative. That's talent. That's not something you learn in school or by taking lessons. Life is unfair. Now I'm jealous of you :P.
A plus. Keep writing, hopefully publish your work, you know it will succeed.

This is very good! What a great start! What a tough subject to write about. I love this. Have to read more!

[Erin]

Wow, that was worded and came out really well. It sorta reminds me of a friend who has been abused before. But except for some spelling and grammar corrections, it seemed fine. Okay, I gotta read the next chapter...