ChapStick (ManxBoy)

Chapter 2 - Taste of metal and smell of gunpowder

Chapter 2 – Taste of metal and smell of gunpowder

Chapter Song – Lilium from the Japanese Cartoon/Animé Elfen Lied

“…noooooo! Fucking stop, pleeeaase! NOOOOOOO!”

My eyelids began to twitch at the sound of screaming souls around me. The trance I was deeply in got broken by the cries I heard deep inside the bowels of a place that was wicked and malevolent. The shrieks were deafening. It was the kind of stuff bad dreams were made of. I awoke from a dream only to find myself in a nightmare. I had to wake up, but didn’t know how.

My sight wandered the room they kept us in. Sludge could be seen in every corner, with moss building up on walls in different sections of the room. There was this palpable stench of rusting metal. Almost like fresh, pungent blood close to coagulating. It smelled like death all around me.

I fixed my gaze in one corner and saw the girl I sat beside in the truck, who I got hit for, backed up in one corner pointing at me. Her eyes were fraught with horror as she covered her ears. I creased my eyebrows, not understanding. Without warning, I heard what sounded like a gunshot in the other room. It silenced the cries that initially broke my slumber. It wasn’t long before the voices started picking up again, with silence dissipating to give way to sobs of sorrow from ‘younguns’.

‘Younguns’, a word I heard going around. Heard in conversations between and among our captors, from the time we boarded the shipping vessel to this very moment. My tongue had developed an affinity for the word. And knowing how to imitate sounds quickly, it wasn’t long before I myself started enunciating the word. However slurred, I cried the accursed word at our abductors. It caught the attention of one particular man. He was leaning against the wall beside the door where the girl’s corner was at. The man peeled himself off the wall and darted at me.

A sinister voice came up from behind, “Pike, gather the young ones we branded and pile them up in B,” I placed his age around thirty to forty years old. He sounded African-American it seemed.

“Right ‘way Mr. Plask!” exclaimed the stocky guy who fitted the bill of a trusty, yet dumb henchman.

“…uhm, sir, wot ‘bout this one right ‘ir?” the dumb-looking cohort asked, pertaining to me.

“Hold it,” barked the masked man who flinched when I cried ‘younguns’ at him. Ski-mask guy.

His footsteps came marching gathering filth around the floor I laid. ‘It’s him…’ I thought, recognizing him to be the man who helped me up when the brute threw me in. “Leave ‘em with me,” said ski-mask guy in an impassive tone. He bent down and leveled with me on the floor.

My muscles buckled in pain as he took me in his arms, “it’s…you...” I hissed between breaths.

“What?” he inquired with mild worry. He leaned closer to hear my pathetic attempts at speech.

“…thhff–” I couldn’t string words, let alone utter a syllable. I racked too much pain all over.

I was having difficulty speaking so he dipped closer to hear what I had to say. He might have worn a ski-mask, but I could see in his eyes that he was human, “what’re you saying?” he asked.

I tried hard but couldn’t make out the words I wanted. My lip was busted, and it impaired my speech. He gawked at me with eyes that were hard to read. I couldn’t say he was evil, for I saw a glint of kindness in those eyes. They drew me in. I felt safe as I got lost in them. I saw a soul.

“Yo, dumb-dumb, get me a water bottle!” he ordered the brute to which the ogre responded with a snarl.

“Here!” the brute, which happened to be Pike, growled as he threw the masked man a water bottle.

Ski-mask guy caught it and loosened the cap. He brought the tip of the bottle closer to my mouth, “here, come on now, drink,” he whispered gently. I couldn’t remember the last time I had fresh water to drink. I must have looked like a youngling being bottle-fed as I voraciously sipped the water that oozed from the small opening. The first few drops I swallowed prickled my throat. It hurt but I continued to take what I could get, with hands wrapped around the grimy plastic bottle.

“That’s it, keep going…” his voice was encouraging. It made me believe in the goodness he had within.

I started to choke on water so he pulled the bottle away from my grasp, “…thhhank you,” I sighed.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he approved with a voice that melted into a character that I placed as kind.

He lifted me and cradled me in his arms. My head fell on his chest. I felt dizzy and weak. But what moved me the most was his scent. It was intoxicating and seductively appealing. I started to feel a stirring, something gut deep that I couldn’t put my finger on. Was I attracted to him?

I kept myself from tipping over by sinking deeper in the cusp he created with his body. I grabbed on the damp shirt against his chest as he cradled me in his arms. I felt safe. I could trust him.

“Hey, you mind telling me where you’re taking that piece-a shit?” snorted their boss, who I believe was Mr. Plask, with a cigar in his mouth.

“This here’s my 401(k),” Mr. Ski-mask smirked.