Diluted Darkness

May 10, 2017
By ahaines_10 SILVER, Wilmington, Massachusetts
ahaines_10 SILVER, Wilmington, Massachusetts
8 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I woke up in a daze, not knowing where I was or what was going on. I slowly opened my eyes, unsure of what to expect. My eyelashes brushed lightly against a soft fabric. It was eerily close to my face, and I felt constricted. I opened my eyes completely, as panic started to rise up in my chest. It was dark, not that calming pitch black dark. No, I did not have the luxury of the mind numbing serene darkness that is relaxing while lying in bed. Instead, it was the type darkness that can drive one mad. Just black enough that one can't identify where they are at all, but there is some light shining through. The light plays tricks on the mind, making the person see shadows and shapes, even bursts of color. I tried to see where I was, I focused on my breathing and told myself to think. “Focus, think, look at the light spots, you need to know what is going on,” I repeated over and over in my head. Suddenly,  I heard a faint clicking noise. Where had I heard this before? I searched the walls of my brain, desperately fishing for the memories, praying they come rushing back. However, I was not this lucky, my mind remained a vaste maze of information I could not recollect. The clicking noise became louder, but remained at the same rhythmic pace. “ CLICK, CLICK*pause* CLICK, CLICK *pause*  CLICK,CLICK” The noise makes me shiver, and I fear I am not alone in this strange place. “Am I dead?” I asked myself. “Is this what hell is like? There's no way this is heaven, that would be a huge let down! I try so hard to be a good person I can't be in hell can I? Am I here because of Mark?” My mind raced with a million questions. The clicks got very loud and then stopped, as they stopped, I realized in my frenzied state; I had shut my eyes. They were clenched tight as can be. I timidly wrenched them open to see what my future possesed. I felt something lurking over me. A shape, the dark silhouette of a person could be made out through the dingy cloth over my face. I realized the clicking noise must have been the person coming over here. I could not remember the word for this though at the time, now I know it was footsteps of course!
The person lurked, they leaned over my face. I could feel the heat from their breath on my body. They were so close, yet I could not tell who it was or what they were doing. I tried to find my voice to say something, but I could not speak. Next, I went to move one of my arms but I was unable to move. Everything was frozen, numb, not from fear, I was paralized, something was wrong with me. I started to freak out, but only in my mind because I could no longer speak or move.
Suddenly, the body turned away. They turned back quickly and I heard a strange, sharp buzzing sound, it was dull but sounded powerful. The hum continued and the shape of the person was not in my field of obscured vision anymore. They were no longer over my face, and I could not move my neck. I sensed the foreign figure was by my lower abdomen but I was  not sure. Then, I heard a voice with a thick accent shout.
“No! First the intestines then the kidney you idiot!”
At this point a new wave of panic rushed over me, shivers radiated down my spine, which was the first thing I actually felt.
“What is going on?” I asked myself. “Am I sick, are these doctors giving me surgery?” “No, no I’m not sick, I just had my physical last week, I am healthy, one of the healthiest fifteen year olds the doctors had seen in awhile, she said so herself.”
“ Well, if I'm not sick why am I here, and what are they doing with my organs?”
That was a very good question, smart of me to ask myself. But I was completely distracted from that thought because at that very moment every feeling, every single nerve ending in my body came back to life, and it was excruciating.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I immediately shot up from the thing I was lying on, possibly a table, or worn out cot, and started flailing about. I struggled and tried to get the black bag off of my head but was quickly grabbed by a big burly hand that was sweaty, heavy and terrifyling strong.
“ What the F****! He’s awake! How the hell could you let him wake up! Arkady are you dumb? Sedate him now! We are not finished removing the organs, he cannot remember this, or we will be turned in to the police! Is that what you want? To rot in an American prison for the rest of your goddamn life?” A man with a booming voice shouted.
“No, no, I am sorry sir, I will fix it right now!” Said what I assumed was Arkady. And that is the last thing I remember.
I don't remember anything else, from the “operation”, I still remember  everything that happened after. After I woke up for the second time, I began to realize who I was. I was a fifteen year old boy, I thought my name was Vince, Vince Flaherty I thought, it sounded right when I said it in my head, but I was not positive it was my name. Anyways, I remembered I was from California, and my mom Laura and I were on vacation to Thailand.
Ever since my “dad” had died in a car crash last fall, she had been extremely depressed. He was a jerk, so I honestly had been okay. Him not being around was a weight lifted off my shoulders. I think mom was sad because she regrets being with him now, and his death made her realize how much he made our lives suck. She felt like she let me down by choosing him, but I did not blame her, ever.
He used to beat her anytime he got mad. When I was younger, I'd sit in the corner and scream and cry or hide when he went on one of his drunk rampages. But once I turned 10, I started fighting back. I never called him my dad, that word is for real fathers, that teach their kids how to play catch, have a job and a college degree or at least some ambition. Mark was not a dad, it was even insulting to myself to call him a man.
Mark would come home, drunk as can be. He slurred his words, and shouted mouthfuls of vernacular at us both. Mark often told my mom she was useless, and a horrible parent, he told me he wished  I was never born. The words hurt at first, but after a while, I learned to shut them out. I took everything he said as motivation to be nothing like him. My mom, on the other hand tried to protect me, she always felt guilty and told me how much she loved me and how great I was. She was always there for me, always a great mother. I want her to know that.
One day, right after my 10th birthday, Mark came home from the bar. He was red in the face and stumbled in the trailer door.
“Aren't you going to say happy birthday to Vince?” My mom asked. “You haven't seen him since his birthday.”
“Mom it's fine.” I mumbled under my breath.
“Don't tell me what to do Laura!” He yelled and hucked the bottle of bud light he had in his hand at her. It was empty of course, he would never waste a sip of liquor in his life! The throw missed my mom, and the bottle shattered into a million little pieces on the wall behind her. She jumped as it crashed, her face pale with fright. Mark screamed spitting everywhere with every word
“what did I scare you, you piece of crap?”
“No.” My mom said looking nervously at the floor playing with her fingers and trying not to look up.
“Look me in the eye when you talk to me, show some respect!” The monster lurched.
His gross odor radiated from his skin, and made my nostrils burn. Suddenly, Mark leaned back slightly, and punched my mother square in the face. She and I both screamed, and I jumped on his back hitting him and kicking him with all my might. He slammed me against a wall and kicked me in the ribs 4 times. I winced and rolled in agony, my mother tried to keep his powerful steel toed boots from my side, but he stomped down and kicked her right in the face. Her head smashed to the floor, and blood trickled from a small cut on her pretty porcelain face. Mark sludged out of the door, with his brown paper bag of vodka and keys in his hand. I was unable to move because of the pain. The front door slammed and the car skidded away, tires squealing. That was the last time we ever saw Mark.
Mom came back to consciousness and called the police, they took us to the hospital and were questioning us when all the sudden an urgent call came on and they all had to leave immediately. We sat there, in our hospital beds, watching it all unfold on the news.The headline read: “BREAKING NEWS: DRUNK DRIVER SPINS OUT OF CONTROL AND HITS A TREE. As we watched the footage, of a car spinning and engulfing in flames, I realized I recognized that car. That was mark’s car! Mark was driving, and of course he was drunk.
“BEEP BEEP!!!” Loud sirens, tore mom and I’s attention from the television. An ambulance screeched up to the trauma doors of the hospital. A stretcher flew by with a doctor sitting on the gurney compressing the patient’s chest. The gurney was quickly brought near us, because it was an immediate space to stop. The patient was badly burnt, the face charred and pink, unrecognizable. They were barely breathing, it didn't look like they were going to make it. I felt bad for whoevers loved one that was. The odds did not look good.
As the heart rate flatlined, the somber nurse pronounce “ time of death 19:33, 38 year old male, Mark Flarhity.”
Immediate shock came over me, I had no idea that man was Mark. As sick as it may sound, I felt relieved in that very moment, as soon as that doctor said those words, a smile spread across my face. Mom and I were safe, forever. Or so I thought…
Anyways, where was I? Yes right, Thailand. Mom had always wanted to go to Thailand, so after being in a slump for months, she decided to make a change and take us to Thailand for a fresh start. I was more than happy to leave town for a while. The blood stained kitchen from the night Mark attacked us was really freaking me out. Plus, I’ve always wanted to travel, but Mark would never let us leave his sight. He was too addicted to sitting in his favorite stool at the bar on the corner to leave the country, so we were all forced to stay put.  So, when Mark died, we packed our bags and set off on our first plane ride ever, that just so happened to be 19 hours.
When we got to Thailand, it seemed like just what mom and I needed. There were beautiful mountains and beaches, great weather, delicious food and some pretty nice people too! The first couple days, we did all the touristy stuff. After a few days, mom was loving it so much, she decided to go on a date! A guy asked her out earlier that day, and she had her reservation because she hadn't been out with a man since Mark died, but she decided fresh start why not go? So, mom got ready for her date and then he picked her up and they went to a small little restaurant in town. I stayed in the hotel, to watch tv and binge on food from room service. There was a knock on the door, I assumed it was my sticky rice, but I was way off. As soon as I opened the door, a huge scary man dressed in all black, with a whole crew of men, grabbed my mouth so I couldn't yell and shoved a bag over my head. He tied me up and knocked me out. That's why I woke up with the bag on my head in the dark room. You know what happens next, I already went over that part. The second time I woke up I recalled all this stuff and that's where we are now.
Unlike the first time I woke up, there was no one in the room this time, it was completely silent. I was not restrained, and I was very weak but could move my arms. I struggled to remove the bag from my head but finally got it off. I gasped when I saw myself. I was scarred and torn up everywhere. I had messy jagged stitches in some places and some gabbing wounds. My body felt very strange, it was a mix of sharp pain and emptiness. I was dizzy and everything was blurry, I knew I needed help but didn't have the energy to walk. I screamed help as loud as I possibly could until my voice went hoarse. At last when I was about to give up, someone heard me. The warehouse door opened and a petite Thai women walked in. She gasped when she saw me and immediately called the police and told them to send an ambulance. As she fumbled through her purse to look for something anything to help me, I saw she had paper and a pen. I frantically gesticulated trying to get her to hand me the paper and writing utensil.
She saw me and handed me them both. As the ambulance came and I was rushed into it and to the hospital, I was yelled at to relax and sit still. I could not obey, I had to keep writing. I scribbled frantically, writing my whole story, everything you have read now I wrote on the paper. I am writing this very sentence from the hospital as they poke my other arm with an IV. My mom is on her way but she is 40 minutes away and getting here as fast as she can. I need to write this down because I want her to know my story, I want everyone to know what happened to me. I am scared to die and I don't want to be forgotten. I want her to know what happened to me. I want her to know those evil men cut out my organs to sell them for money. I heard the doctors say that's what they thought it was. Apparently it is rare but not unheard of here. Sometimes children are kidnapped and sliced open for their organs. How horrible right? They are usually left to die or killed. They told me my  liver, one of my kidneys, and both intestines have been removed. I am going to die. It is only a matter of minutes until I see that terrifying darkness again. I love you mom, please for me, try to be happy. I don't want you to destroy yourself mourning. I want to see you smiling from heaven. My hand is shaking and I am sweating, my pulse is slowing down. I cannot write anymore. I love you mom, I will always love you. I will protect you from heaven forever.


The author's comments:

I had to write a Gothic short story for English class, and found myself writing about a boy named Vince. The story sort of just came to me and I wound up sitting down and writing all eight pages at once. However, the idea to have the main character be a victim of organ trafficking came from the horrific truth I recently learned; children are often trafficked for their organs. I imagined how terrifying being kidnapped and having your organs removed would be. I thought making the issue alive through Vince and his fabricated fate might cause people to realize how scary and prominent human trafficking is, and then they might try to help prevent it. 

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