HOWL
Ice cold water.
The water is icy cold, colder than Mister Way’s fingers on my shoulder’s or the forest’s mossy carpet under my feet.
And I think it’s what jerks me awake from the numbness.
From the lack of reality.
This is reality now. This is real. He is real. You are here.
This hits me completely unprepared.
Brutal, cruel, unreal reality.
So I begin to cry.
I know it’s the most idiotic thing to do but I can’t stop it.
So I just curl up in the tiny creek, watch the icy water turning red and sob.
As if this was his cue to get in the water, Mister Way removes his polished shoes,
his blood red socks,
folds up his pants and gets in the water.
He cups his hands and splashes water over my head,
rubs my back,
removes the dried blood,
combs his fingers though my hair,
as if he’s bathing a toddler.
There’s nothing dirty about it. It’s almost methodical.
Then it happens.
Uncanny, incomprehensible events that blur reality.
There’s a noise, a twig snaps, leaves shuffle.
Moving so fast that it would seem impossible I find myself warped in the trench coat again, my back against a tree and Mr. Way towering over me, as if trying to conceal me.
My face is covered in hot tears and snot is beginning to drip from my nose yet we stay there, not even daring to breath.
The fact I’m not screaming my lungs out can only be explained by my newly developed Stockholm syndrome or the eerie quickness in which he moved.
Then the really odd thing happens.
The fabric of the trench coat seems to be growing, changing.
It’s turning into a cape that’s slowly warping around me.
It’s material is warm, soft, gentle.
It makes me feel safe and calm.
And it’s this feeling that makes me doubt again if I should be screaming and kicking.
Making a run for it.
Maybe I’ve thought about it before, but it’s first time I really mean it.
As if he heard me, Mister Way stares directly into my eyes for a second. There’s something electric about his hazel eyes. Like if they where illuminated by a lamp inside of them.
Then he leans in and whispers in my ear: “hold your breath”
A shiver travels down my spine.
I do as I’m told.
Running away a long lost possibility.
He turns around and cocks his gun.
“Never do that again Mikey, I could kill you, you know?”
And I think it’s what jerks me awake from the numbness.
From the lack of reality.
This is reality now. This is real. He is real. You are here.
This hits me completely unprepared.
Brutal, cruel, unreal reality.
So I begin to cry.
I know it’s the most idiotic thing to do but I can’t stop it.
So I just curl up in the tiny creek, watch the icy water turning red and sob.
As if this was his cue to get in the water, Mister Way removes his polished shoes,
his blood red socks,
folds up his pants and gets in the water.
He cups his hands and splashes water over my head,
rubs my back,
removes the dried blood,
combs his fingers though my hair,
as if he’s bathing a toddler.
There’s nothing dirty about it. It’s almost methodical.
Then it happens.
Uncanny, incomprehensible events that blur reality.
There’s a noise, a twig snaps, leaves shuffle.
Moving so fast that it would seem impossible I find myself warped in the trench coat again, my back against a tree and Mr. Way towering over me, as if trying to conceal me.
My face is covered in hot tears and snot is beginning to drip from my nose yet we stay there, not even daring to breath.
The fact I’m not screaming my lungs out can only be explained by my newly developed Stockholm syndrome or the eerie quickness in which he moved.
Then the really odd thing happens.
The fabric of the trench coat seems to be growing, changing.
It’s turning into a cape that’s slowly warping around me.
It’s material is warm, soft, gentle.
It makes me feel safe and calm.
And it’s this feeling that makes me doubt again if I should be screaming and kicking.
Making a run for it.
Maybe I’ve thought about it before, but it’s first time I really mean it.
As if he heard me, Mister Way stares directly into my eyes for a second. There’s something electric about his hazel eyes. Like if they where illuminated by a lamp inside of them.
Then he leans in and whispers in my ear: “hold your breath”
A shiver travels down my spine.
I do as I’m told.
Running away a long lost possibility.
He turns around and cocks his gun.
“Never do that again Mikey, I could kill you, you know?”