The World is Full of Horrors | Teen Ink

The World is Full of Horrors

December 29, 2010
By WickedStarcatcher DIAMOND, Massapequa, New York
More by this author Follow WickedStarcatcher
WickedStarcatcher DIAMOND, Massapequa, New York
67 articles 1 photo 55 comments

Favorite Quote:
"I don't damsel well. Distress, I can do. Damseling? Not so much."
— James Patterson
"This is the very first page, not where the storyline ends, my thoughts will echo your name until I see you again..." ~Taylor Swift "Enchanted"


Author's note: I wrote this piece for several reasons. I really wanted to try to write a about a different genre then I am used to. Usually I like light and happy stories with good plots, twists and drama. However, I decided that it was time to experiment with my ideas and writing technique. I think that every once and a while it is good to just sit down with a blank sheet of paper and just "think out of the box." Creativity is the greatest weapon/tool in the whole world. It is the one resource that can never be depleted, the part of the brain that can never be overused. It defines who we are as individuals and sets us apart from all the other people on the planet. This piece is an experiment of creativity. I hate giving disclaimers but I cannot guarantee that this story will be awesome. I also can't tell you that it will be bad. I've had fun writing this and cannot wait to add more chapters! Enjoy! :) Chapter 1: When I learned to write, I was always told "NO DISCLAIMERS!" but I believe that rules are sometimes meant to be broken (only in the case of writing, though! :)) So, I am just going to say a quick few things. Thing 1) I’m not into melancholy, dark story tones. Thing 2) I need reviews! The only way to get better is to get feedback. I'm not afraid of your opinions or my flaws. So, as Taylor Swift once sang "This is me standing in front of you swallowing my pride..." So, if you can I would absolutely positively LOVE your ideas on how I could make this chapter better! :) Thing 3) there is a message woven into this story, but you might have to look for it. This is kind of an experiment-but don't worry! I think I know what I'm getting myself into here! :) I hope you enjoy this and can take something away from it! Tell me your views and tell me how I can make this novel the best it can be! Thank you-have a good time reading!

The world is full of horrors. Killings. Death. Hatred. Wars. Gun shots. Knives. Tanks. The world is full of these things. How long will it be before we are all gone? Really, how long? With nuclear missiles, bombs, and guns, really, how long will we all last?

I used to think the world was filled with happiness. Smiles. Warmth. Joy. But then they took my family. The group of men took my family. “We’re doing what’s best for you, son.” They’d said, as they’d locked my parents away. Stuffed them in an armored car and left. I stood there, surrounded by soldiers dripping with weapons, yet I felt vulnerable and utterly alone. I was six.

5…4…3…2…1…MIDNIGHT! It was finally my birthday! I had waited days, weeks, and months! Now I was SIX! That wonderful number was now mine. No one could take it away from me. I settled down into my bed and away from the bright yellow alarm clock on my bedside table. SIX! I was so excited! I closed my energy filled six year old eyes and quickly drifted into a peacefully warm bliss of oblivion. The deep sleep where you are warm and safe and you feel as if nothing will ever harm you.
In the morning I jumped out of bed and rush into the kitchen. Mom was there, stirring the cake batter in her lucky baby blue bowl. She was dressed in her ratty pink bathrobe, hair damp from her recent shower. “Did you sleep good honey?” She asked as she circled the spoon round and round through the dark chocolaty mass.

“You didn’t stay up all night, did you?” My father inquired his dark eyes dull with sleep. He flipped my favorite breakfast- Bisques pancakes- at the stove while he perused the New York Times Sunday edition. His grey college sweatpants were too small for his long legs, leaving a reasonable gap of skin between the pant’s end and his dark brown slippers.

After a few minutes of frying and stirring, we all sat down on the couch so I could open my presents while we ate. Mom on the left, Dad on the right. I was snuggled in between, my Darth Vader pajamas contrasting sharply against Mom’s pink and Dad’s grey. I open my mouth and Mom fork fed me a soft, fluffy pancake, making my taste buds tingle and my tummy growl in anticipation.

“Happy Birthday dear Jason! Happy Birthday tooooo yooooouuuuuuu!” Mom sang dramatically, handing me the first of many shinning packages that were sitting menacingly on the coffee table. I shook it and began to tear the wrapping, savoring the first present that my six year old hands would open. My parents each smiled and leaned in close to see my reaction.

I guessed that it would probably be a chemistry set or a volcano model kit or something sciency. My parents were both scientists. I didn’t know exactly what they did for a living but I did know that there was a closet full of lab coats and goggles beneath the stairs. I prepared myself to see that new Astro-Habitrail toy that allowed you to grow your own frogs from tadpoles in a space-themed habitat.

As I was untying the last bit of ribbon, a knock came from the door. BABOOM!

Dad got up and I put down the present, temporarily distracted. “Now who would come at a time like this?” My mother asked, pulling back her pink sleeve to reveal a bright orange watch.

Dad unlocked and opened the door, staring slackjawed at what stood before him. His pupils dialated and he broke into a cold sweat. My father was staring into the barrel of a AK-47 gun.

How they took us, I can’t remember. It was not totally light outside, but the sun seemed to be setting again as a rough hand pulled me from my mother’s grasp. “MOMMY!” I kicked and screamed as the black-clad man took me away.

“JASON!” My mother’s eyes were wild and frantic as she too was pulled through the door way and wrenched to the wall against her will.

“Are you the rebels?!” My father asked in a trembling but brave voice as he was patted down for weapons. “What do you want from us?” his eyes were very much awake now. The two shinning ovals were filled with an energy that could only be described as a collision between fire and ice- a mix of pure terror and rage.

“Oh, Mr.Trellgino, I think you know exactly why we’re here.” The man who spoke was tall and burly. The mucsles on his arms were as big as watermelons, and he had a dark mostach that was waxed into a curl at each end. His voice was slow as molases yet gravely and raw. He chuckled menacingly and walked over to my father, hands behind his back. A gun holder hung from his beltloop. It was empty.

My Dad’s eyes were wider than I thought was possible. “You…you want…?”

“Yes, Mr.Trellgino, we want it very badly. I trust that you will give it to us. In fact, you’ll find that we can be very persuasive in getting what we want.” He made a sudden movement and grabbed me from the wall by my shirt collar. Something cold and metalic was pressed against my neck. I shivered involuntarily.

“JASON! NO!” My mother fought furiously against the man that had pinned her against the wall. She tried to kick his kneecaps like we had learned in the mother-son karate class the year before. But her fight was in vain. She gave up, breathing heavily, twisting her wrists in the attacker’s hands fruitlessly.

“Jason…”She whispered, tears flooding down her cheeks and splattering onto the ground. I had never seen Mommy cry before. Tear after tear splashed to the ground. The sloshing was the only noise that could be heard as my mother stared pleadingly at the man holding the metal to my throat.

“Fine.” I looked up at my Dad, his voice had been so low that I had barely heard it. His wiry glasses hung off his nose, threatening to fall off and shatter. His hands, like my mother’s, were held behind his back by a large and muscular masked man. “We’ll do what you want. We’ll give it to you. Just…leave him.”

What a cliché, bargaining for another’s freedom. I still had no idea what was going on. I could not struggle-what would my punny sixyearold mucsles do against those of Watermelon Man? And what was the metal pressed against my neck? It was beginning to annoy me. And where were the neighbors? Certainly they would notice that something in the Trellgino household was amiss?

The man lossened his grip a fraction, and pulled the metal away from my skin. He stowed the gun back in it’s holster.

“Hm. I knew you’d say that.” The Melon Man smiled and chuckled. It was an ugly sound, like a ax against a tree. It was choppy and uneven.

From there, I was forced into a big black van along with my parents and our captors. They kept us in the back so that we were seperated by a steal cage-like mesh window. The only light came through the small window covered in mesh. The space was seatless and empty. My Mom and Dad hugged me tightly for a little while. Then we sat in silence for a moment, not wanting to talk. The men appeared to be ruthless and did not seem like talking kind of people. My mom put her finger to her lips.

A minute later she took her hands from around me and began to sign. OK? She asked in sign language. This was one of the few signs I had learned so far. I nodded yes. She smiled, the corners of her mouth quivering. She turned to my father, and they instantly began signing the most rapid and long conversation that I had ever seen. I could only follow a few gestures. One I knew was RUN. The other was BAD. Otherwise, I was lost. Six years old, but lost.

Suddenly, their rapid hand signing seised. Mom’s left hand went from a delicate “A” sign to a fist. She slowly slid her fist under the flare of her pajama pants and into her sock. Dad did the same. I didn’t want to be left out, so I did so as well. My hand latched onto a piece of hardcandy that I had snagged during dinner at Grandma’s house the night before. It was peppermint my favorite, so I let it be in case I would need it.

Mom and Dad kept their hands in their socks for a while. A long while. Three and a half hours, to be exact.
“Ummm…? Sir…?” My Dad asked cautiously, directing his question to the wire mesh window.
“Yes?” Came Mr.Melon Man’s gruff voice back through the mesh.
“Well…my wife…she’s pregnant…and she has an inconvieniently full bladder at the moment…”
“OH.” The man said in a slightly hesitant voice.
“Uhhh…Pull over at the next McDonalds.”
“Thank you.” My mother breathed a mock sigh of relief. My parents were good liars. In twenty minutes, the engine’s gentle rumble slowed as the car’s speed decreased. We finally came to a stop.

My legs were soar and I felt a bit carsick. I did really have to use the bathroom. I looked at Mom and Dad and was about to tell them this when I heard the distinct open and shut of the van’s doors. I closed my mouth immediately. Mom and Dad slipped their hands from their socks and proped themselves up on their knees, tensing to spring. Their hands clutched into fists. Mom pinched two of the fingers on her right hand together and stuck them into her left hand. There was a small pop! as Mom removed a tiny cork from her left fist. Dad did the same.

Quick as a hunter’s bullet during deer hunting season, my mother bent down and whispered into my ear, “When we tell you, RUN.”

I looked into her eyes for a moment and held her gaze. Of course I would run. She had told me to, hadn’t she? She swept her hair behind her head in a blue-ebony wave.

“I love you sweetheart.”

“I love you too Mom.”

A few short sec onds later, the two barn doors at the back of the van burst open. Two huge heads wipped in and tried to grab my parents’ arms. Within the same second, Mom and Dad both thrust their hands into the captor’s faces. Some bubbling and fizzing liquid poured from their fists, into the eyes and faces of the aggressors.

Each staggered back and out of the van, each screeching from pain. The larger of the two was lying on the ground, writhing. The smaller trying desperately to remove the acursed liquid from his face. In any case, both were temporarily detained.

“NOW JASON!” whispered my mother in a shrill voice. My father whispered “GO!” his voice was full of both revelry and fright.

Usually I’d vie with my parents. I wouldn’t listen. I’d run in the opposite direction. But this was different. I could tell by the alarm in their eyes that this was serious and that there was no room for error. There was no time for mutiny. So I did what I was told.

Not even two seconds after my parents had splattered chemicals on our assalents, my feet hit the ground running. My tiny muscles pumping furiously, and my lungs pulling in endless amounts of oxygen. I was going faster then I ever had before. I dodged the blind and jerky movements of the two men, I jumped over the curb, and I made a beeline for the blessed golden arches of McDonalds.

“He’s getting away!” I waited for my parents to catch up with me, surely they were right behind me? But they didn’t. In fact, just as I stretched out my hand to hit the hanicap door opening button (I was super short and couldn’t reach the handle), a swift arm pulled me from the door and swept me away.

A rough piece of fabric was twisted around my head so that I couldn’t see. I flailed my limbs, desperately trying to scratch, kick and hit. Melon Man just laughed his weird, uneven laugh and ploped me down on a leather chair. I heard the distinctive sound of a seatbelt being pulled out of it’s holder and being clicked into a buckle around me. I heard the two goons shuffle into the van and then the engine rumbled again. We were off. To where, I had not a clue.

“Where’s Jason?” I could hear my mother speaking from behind me. “What have you done with my son!?”

Melon Man laughed again. I was beginning to get annoyed with that laugh. “Your son’s fine, for now. He’s up here. Any more of your little tricks and we’ll leave him to hich hike on the side of the highway.” My mom remained silent.

We drove for hours. Each minute that crawled by felt perpetuital. We stopped only twice. Once it was to use the bathroom at a rundown, nameless burger joint on the side of the road. The bathroom could only fit one, so I went in alone. After I had washed my hands and taken a drink from the drinking fountain I walked out. One of Melon Man’s croonies, eyes red and burned looking, thrust a small bag into my chest containing a greasey burger. I looked around desperately for my parents, but they were no where to be found. I wondered where they were. I wondered if they’d be okay. I wondered if I’d be okay.

The second time we stopped we were in the desert. It had probably been a good four hours since our bathroom break and I could have really used another. My Darth Vader pajamas were dirty and wrinkled from the day’s journey. After the rest stop, the blindfold had remained removed from my face so I could eat my burger. I’d watched all the houses go by, the highway signs, the people, the places. They all flowed past my window. I prayed a couple of times that the car would crash and that the police would remove Mom, Dad, and I safely from the wreckege, but that the rest of the car’s occupants would be dead or hurt somehow.

The desert was long and seemed quite peaceful. We bounced along on the sand-beaten road, the only car on the long, stretching highway. Then finally, we stopped.

We had halted in front of an old, falling apart house. It stood on the side of the road. Shingles and broken siding littered the sand. Beer bottles were lying everywhere, broken glass lined the sand. An askew sign said “WAYWRD INN:WALK-INS WELCOME.” I imagine it would have said WAYWARD, but it doesn’t really matter.

One of the big men carried me to the front door, a graffetied piece of wood that bore phrases like: “EASTERNERS GO TO HELL” and “BEST IS THE WEST.” They were unimaginative, stupid phrases that made no sense. I was carried through the door, through the smoky rooms filled with pool tables, liqour bottles, and more huge people like the one holding me. At the back of the house there was a door, cleaner then the front door, but dilipitated just the same. The man opened it and shoved me through. I tumbled head over heels down a rough staircase and into darkness.

I was knocked out. When I woke up several dark hours later I was sprawled out on my back next to something small and bright. As my eyes focused in the darkness, I saw that it was a lantern. A shadowy figure was hunched next to it, apparently sleeping. I walked over to it, staggering as I did so. My leg hurt a lot. It was like firey cattle prods were crawling around under the surface of my skin. When I finally made it over to the figure I realized that it was a little girl. She was my age, with blond hair in ratty pigtails and dust smeared along her face. I carefully prodded her awake.

“He-he-hello?” I whispered. Slowly, her eyes opened. “SHHHHH!” she put her finger to her lips angrily and frowned. She began to crawl away from me into the darkness, motioning for me to follow. I got down on my hands and knees and shuffled after her. Soon we came to a wall of boxes. The girl got up, tiptoes around them, and then pointed to a small vent above them. That was when I realized that we could be overheard. That certainly explained her “SHHHShing.” I followed her away from the vent and through a small hallway which lead into another room. Suddenly there was a draft, and I shivered. My Darth Vader outfit was just not cutting it.

We tiptoed into the room. It was small and, of course, dark. The carpet was rough and dug into my holey socks. I looked around and saw a beaten up couch and some large piles of blankets.

“We can talk in here.” The girl said, flipping a switch somewhere and illuminating the darkness. I rubbed my eyes a few times until they had adjusted. I saw that she was about my age and was wearing a red party dress with satin trim and several large roses dotting the hem. “I’m Silence. I know you. Our parents work together.”

I tried to remember her but nothing stood out. “It’s okay if you don’t remember me. We last saw eachother a few years ago. My parents talk about yours, though. A lot. The only reason I can remember so much is ‘cause I’ve got a photographic memory.” She declared proudly, stroking a braid.

“Oh.” I looked at her in interest. Was she a crime solver like Cam Jansen? Did she have super-power high def. photo graphic memory?

“You know why we’re here, don’t you?” She flopped down on the couch, a cloud of dust coming up around her. She leaned forward, head resting on her fist, as she stared at me. It was clear that she knew something that I did not.

“Uhhhh…”

“They’re planning to do something. Something terrible. That’s why they need our parents.”

“What can Mom and Dad do?”

“Science. Not a lot of people can do science. But Your mom and dad and my mom and dad know everything.” She nodded to herself, as if she had just spoken the most truest rule in the world. “They know everything. And they’re gonna get us out of here.”

“How long have you been down here?” I lowered my voice as I asked this, afraid that if I was loud the fear in my voice would call the evil melon man down into the dark rooms of the basement to squash me like a bug. She counted on her fingers. “Three days, four hours and eleven minutes.”

“Oh. How do you know how many minutes?”

“Our moms and dads aren’t the only smart ones around here.”

“Oh.” For a moment I saw the glimer of a smile on her thin, young lips. We heard footsteps above us, hard, resognating boots pounding the ground. The smile faded, then grw in length, stretchhing her cheeks.

From far away, I heard the door to the stairs open. It was a loud creaking noise that shattered the brittle bones of Silence. I drew a deep, steadying breath. Silence got up happily and ran towards the door.

“Silence!” I hissed, least she get caught, “Silence! Come back!” But she would not come back. She refused to come back. She stuck her nose up to the very idea of coming back as she pounded the floor with her loud little dress shoes and he fiesty red personality.

“Miss Louisa! Miss Louisa!” She sang in a whispering cry. No, Silence would not come back. Refused to come back. She stuck her nose up at the very idea of coming back as she silently screeched out a name of which I was totally uncomprehensive. “Miss Louisa!”



Similar books


JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This book has 1 comment.


on Jun. 17 2011 at 8:06 pm
KristinHopkins8 SILVER, Aspen, Colorado
7 articles 0 photos 83 comments

Favorite Quote:
"If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die"

this sounds like a really great book! i am totally going to read this!


Smith Summer

Parkland Speaks

Campus Compare