Sorry Tomorrow Pt. 2

GeorgeCant94 By GeorgeCant94, 16th Jun 2015 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Short Stories

Sorry Tomorrow Pt. 2, following on from where Sorry Tomorrow Pt. 1 left off.

Sorry Tomorrow Pt.2

“Do you hear me Calvin?” my Father whispered.
I woke up with my two kidnappers talking to each other as if I wasn’t there. We were in the basement and I was shaking uncontrollably, my throat closing around my faltering windpipe. The room was large enough to make it feel completely empty. It was decapitated, with nothing but a few boxes around of things I’d never even dared to look into. The previous owners of this house had been mysteriously disappeared, and I feared something down here would show me something I perhaps didn’t want to see. The old man berated the younger, showing an aggressive side he hadn’t previously seemed to possess. He barked orders, but I just couldn’t hear. I lay with my head on the ground and the old man walked right up to my face, bootlaces almost straddling my nose. His footsteps were completely silent. Stan lay apparently unconscious on the other side of the room.
Everything was brighter now. I was meeting my Dad at the lake. I was laughing at my Dad, who swore he could balance his beer bottle on his nose. He held my hand while he did it, saying he needed me for support. I was his mascot, his inspiration.
“Why are you so scared boy?” he gesticulated happily. “We’re on top of an ocean”.
“I miss you” I pleaded.
This was my time and every exhilarating second gripped me like a nostalgic vice. But I faded to black. My throat was still closing, but now unbearably so, chastised by the atmosphere of dust and dirt. I woke lying in my back yard. It was a small back yard but it was surrounded by fields, trees, buccaneering creatures: a life that existed before the money men monopolised our great city. That’s why I wanted to live here. For all the talk of murder and curses around here, I loved it because it wasn’t the place I knew. It wasn’t the father I desperately idolised. It wasn’t the tragedy of my youth or the false optimism which I yearned for every moment. It was away. The older man was doing the heavy lifting, apparently trying to bury me. I was bleeding from the head and felt my skin cracking away from my forehead, peeling apprehensively out of its place. I was panicking, but I felt my cheat ease. I felt what seemed to be an ancient tension lift out of my diaphragm and squeeze my eyes wide open. Not in fear but in anticipation. The shovel of the old man slashed against a rock and I saw a similarly wide eyed Stan grab it reaching up from his knees. The young conman
Stan looked at me with a maniacal stare.
“What happened in the basement?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?” I said.
He looked like a man who knew the secrets of the world and was prepared to tell me if I was good. He was generous though.
“You know how much I love my parents, my family. I have a duty to hold up with them, a responsibility which I love. It’s never been a burden because they put their heart in me, they trust me even if they don’t really have a choice. They sacrificed for me so I sacrifice for them. But seeing them recover, seeing them healthy and laughing and experiencing life. It was amazing”.
“You did so much for them I know” I said.
“I was laying in your basement and I saw it. It was so real. And now I don’t know what to do. Seeing them happy was too much to let go. If this was a dream then I don’t want my conscious world” he was on a roll. I noticed his eyes glaze over the world around. His jaws seemed to be relaxing and his face had an energy I hadn’t seen since our school years. Not like he needed the change.
“I saw something too” I admitted.
“You’re sceptical?” he asked. “I haven’t felt this way in a long time. Everyone dreams but that wasn’t a dream. It felt like another world. Why was it just me and you? Those guys would be different right now. I see your eyes, I see your chest and it’s not natural. Let’s go back” he urged.
A car pulled up out at the front of my house. It was ominous, my eyes narrowing their gaze. ‘The world isn’t a place to be afraid of, it is always new, and will always give you an opportunity’. I hadn’t heard these words ringing through my head since that day in my childhood when I lost everything. It was my father. The sun was rising with trepidation, watching the show behind a measured orange veil.
The girls got out and ran to us. They saw us through my side gate. They were concerned and desperate to see us. This was everything we’d worked for. The sun burst through the clouds and I wiped the dirt from my brow.
“We’re heroes” Stan realised. “We’re on top of the world” he said, looking down at the city we used to love. “This is it”.
“What do you want to do?” I said, my face radiating the ecstasy I should have been feeling at seeing the other girls, my heart feeling something different. They were with us now, and we embraced them just as we should.
I looked to the city. I wished the streets wouldn’t wind like a snake around the place that was my home. It was too painful.
“We’re on top of the world” Stan repeated.
“I want to be on top of an ocean” I smiled, and knew everything would be alright.


Short, Short Fiction, Short Short Story, Short Stories, Short Story, Short Story Writing, Short-Story, Shorts, Story

Meet the author

author avatar GeorgeCant94
Hailing from the UK but studying in America, I am a soccer player with a passion for travel, adventure, and the diversity and delicate balance that makes people so unique and richly interesting.

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