The Subject of Desire Chapter 3

Paula Andrea Pyle MA By Paula Andrea Pyle MA, 13th Feb 2011 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Short Stories

Charlie Braxton McRoy finds himself in a most precarious situation. He can hardly move, since the weight of his feet has been plastered to a Castle floor by invisible forces, he has no way of controlling. A Genuine Red & White Sand Blaster, his one desire

Chapter 3 :Facing Our Fears Facing Ourselves

No way could Charlie explain it; he felt as though every breath he inhaled was being watched and observed. Frozen to the spot, his feet didn't dare move. He experienced squeamish sensations, of being in some kind of small fish bowl, with at least a million pairs of eyes gawking at him.

"Too eerie to describe or explain, but I know 'they' (who 'they' were, he didn't have a clue) are mocking me." He babbled applying a certain amount of rationality.

"I'm unable to move due to the massive pressure surrounding me. It's something like water but not water, at the same time." Still trying to figure the situation out.

If he could, he would swim faster than a goldfish; but, unfortunately knowing how to swim couldn't help him much in this unlikely circumstance. Remembering how to place one foot in front of the other, in total blackness, sure could, though. His feet continued to remain heavily planted in the same spot, as if weights had been invisibly fastened to them. He had never, as long as he'd been alive, ever experienced such heavy, forlorn darkness deliberately barnacled to his feet.

"Nothing in real life can be this heavy-block black." Terrified feelings saturated his mind.

Daring not to move any part of his lower body, even IF he had wanted to,(which he did not) he turned his head from side to side looking for possible minuscule fragments of light or the possible occupancy of any living manifestation.

"Hey! Wait a minute," he spoke aloud.

"What about that strange voice that spoke to me asking for the bracelet as a special code of entrance? He, I mean 'it' has to be in here, somewhere. At least, one other person has to be in this old castle with me; IF, for no other reason than to run the mechanical contraption which projected the voice."

Every survival instinct he possessed surfaced. Although he couldn't imagine how or why this bizarre incident had occurred, he decided to trust his gut and push forward. With the 115 pounds of massive strength he possessed, he inched incredibly heavy legs across the room. He reasoned a change in atmosphere must have caused the weight attached to each foot. Trying desperately to soothe his irascible, urgent fears, he made a big deal out of rationally talking aloud.

"I was almost there. I KNOW I could, more or less, have touched the front store glass with my nose. The last thing I remember...." He hesitated, demanding from his conscious mind, a reasonable explanation for his ridiculous perilous situation.

"Mr. Fleming's Sports' Store was in full view, wasn't it?" He questioned the certainly of his trip, from school to the Fleming's Sports' store, as he continued to doubt, more and more, each step of his actions. Over and over he combed his mind for clues of clarification.

"What happened? Somebody please tell me what happened!"

Charlie could no longer stand the overload of mental anxiety. Totally frustrated he chose to move in the direction of straight ahead, since he had no other viable option, except to turn around. Gliding ever so slowly, one by one, he slid unsteady weighty feet carefully across the room, making as little noise, as was humanly possible.

Meticulously, he picked his right foot up and placed it down,(as if he were learning how to walk all over again) followed by the exact duplication of the left. Unflinchingly in resolved quietness, he softly and delicately maneuvered his 5 ft. 7in. 115 lb. lanky frame, (as he should have done many times in the school library) respectfully cross-ways the smooth floor.

"The library! What a stupid thought to think at a time like this." Severely reprimanding himself, he continued,” It looks to me like I'd be able to think of something other than the dumb old library."

Charlie studied his mind cautiously, as he stilled his body once again.

No words. Nothing. Cold. Bleak. Black. Scary. No thing. No sound. No scent. No sight. No reassurance. No companionship. No guidance. No thing to guide or direct, create a plan, devise a method to escape or follow.

"How can I be so retarded; not to have any answers?" He couldn't decipher if he was more mad than scared.

"Is this what death feels like?" He wondered, literally trembling, shaking in his tennis shoes.

"Am I dead? Of course, I'm not dead. I would have had to die first, which I didn't. And, furthermore IF I were dead, I wouldn't know it, because I wouldn't be here to say it and to hear it." He argued, carrying on the resilient rebuttal.

Charlie Braxton McRoy remained in imminent danger, though he didn't know what kind of danger it was, exactly. Slowly, breathing harder and louder, he minutely gravitated across the slick floor of the dark old castle, not knowing where or to what outcome he was headed. He must have been walking for at least ten minutes, when he suddenly realized that NO HOUSE or CASTLE could be so massive that would prevent him from getting to the other side by, now.

He panicked. He seized full consciousness with a vengeance. Hysterically, he realized he was in deep trouble, far more than his young mind could possibly comprehend. He grieved, wanting to run back to where he came from, but he didn't know how. Going forward in the dark was difficult enough. He sure didn't want to attempt going backward in the pitch black. All of a sudden, (a still small voice of confidence, he did not recognize as his own stirred), from the deepest recesses of his gut, admonished him to keep going.

"Whatever you do, don't give up." He heard this distinctive familiar but unfamiliar voice whisper inside his head. Although he had no way of explaining this occurrence, either; he felt like he could trust the melodic tone.

"Just keep going." He reminded himself with added agreed encouragement.

Oddly enough, it seemed to him that where he started from and where he was headed was somehow one and the same thing; since from his particular vantage point, he had made no progress, or at least none he could discern; the idea of getting 'there' seemed strange.

"Get where? How do I know where I'm headed?" His heart sank like a steel anchor. Before, when he thought he had a destination, he could muster enough motivation to continue but it faded in obscurity and with it his impetus to carry on.

"What in the world am I going to do; just keep going around in silly circles?" He really didn't know if he was going in circles or not.

"How long can one straight line continue; eventually it has to meet itself, doesn't it?" He grunted. "Jesus Christ, now I'm thinking in terms of physics."

He thought about screaming, again, but was too confused and frightened. He certainly considered crying, but why? (And, who would hear him, anyway?) More importantly, he could not fathom the idea of crying while no one was there to care or intervene.

Out of the blue, he remembered all sorts of despicable things! Vile, wretched, repulsive, hideous images bombarded his over-flooded, petrified mind. Panic-stricken by ungodly fearful thoughts, which continued to race uncontrollably; he was just about to fall to the floor in sheer collapsed hysteria when he remembered, the 'BRACELET'.

"Yeah! I know that bracelet is somehow responsible for my horrible fate." He reaffirmed with convicted intensity, as he fumbled hurriedly into his pocket, to retrieve the strange object once more. He secured it and brought it to the surface. He gripped it real tight, as if his life depended on it.

"Okay, Mister. Get me out of this place. What did I say that for? I have lost my mind. Now, I am talking to a stupid bracelet. How dumb! It's just a good thing none of the other kids can see me. They would compare me to crazy old Jody Miller who sits in his seat at school, picks his nose, never stops banging; sometimes, pees in his pants." Charlie embarrassed, realized he was presently carrying on a full fledged conversation with himself, in the midst of his ominous situation.

However, he also realized with full clarity while ringing out the, 'what seemed to be', disconnected, unrelated words, "Hey, if wetting my pants or banging could get me out of here and back home, I'd do both, double-time."

Charlie didn't think about how tight he was holding onto the bracelet until a couple of the jewels cut his hand. He reacted with a flash unexpected decision: instead of holding it in the palm of his hand he would slide it onto his wrist. At least, he wouldn't lose it that way. He slid it over his right hand onto his bony wrist.

"How about that?" He exclaimed.

"Why am I not surprised that the bracelet is a perfect fit? I suppose I could make up a fancy story about how this mysterious bracelet was designed just for me. How it's going to immediately turn into a magic carpet and fly me out of here."

No such luck. Nothing magical happened to carry him anywhere. Try as he might with the thoughts of hopeful anticipation, Charlie remained all alone.

"Thank god, I haven't crossed over that crazy bridge all the way. I knew the dumb old bracelet wasn't going to get me out of this jam. I'm stuck in here. I don't know how, why or for what reason. But as sure as I am breathing, and can feel my physical body, I am standing in here, alive." He began to briskly rub the bracelet, just in case something out of the ordinary, would happen, maybe even propel him back into the land of the living he was used to.

Even though he had just spent the last few seconds wrangling with himself that no such possibility was going to transpire, he gave it another shot.

"Why did I do this?"

Things stayed the same.

"Just like I imagined, nothing's changed." He continued walking. He knew no other way to face his extraordinary inexplicable dilemma. The redundant sound of his repetitive voice became the only comfort he heard and could relate to.

Yet, it was certainly not enough to get him through the complicated paranoia which was setting in. He involuntarily decided to close his eyes. (What difference did it make anyway?) He would simply fake it. Merely, pretend he wasn't actually going through any of this nonsense; and then maybe, just maybe, he could see some avenue of hope.


Chapter 4
Chapter 2

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author avatar Retired
23rd Feb 2011 (#)

The suspense keeps getting better.

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author avatar Paula Andrea Pyle MA
25th Feb 2011 (#)

Yeah, I am so glad you are enjoying Charlie's trips. It means a lot to me.

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author avatar Songbird B
20th Mar 2011 (#)

Great story....three chapters in now.....looking forward to the next...

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author avatar Paula Andrea Pyle MA
21st Mar 2011 (#)

I am answering these comments backward, Songbird B. But I want you to know how so terribly touched I am you are reading so many of the Chapters of Charlie. He's a wonderful kid.

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