Status: Written for a contest
Le Monstre
Chapter 1
What kind of monster have I become? This pale, bony, disgusting shell of a human.
A hole in the ground has become my home. Away from my parents, away from the scorn of humanity, yet close enough to keep a carefully guarded eye on.
A slot in the wall opens and closes twice a day for food, something dry and stale and generally wretched. They expect me to gather my own water from where it leaks into the cellar through the ground. Thus I manage to keep myself alive.
My eyes, having grown weak and cloudy in the nearly non-existent light, screamed in agony when the slot opened. Onto the ground would drop a slice of stale bread, a pack of powdered saltines, or today's moldy peach.
I slithered across the damp floor, attempting to avoid that fearful light. The first year I was locked in this personal Hell, I craved the light. It was all I had left of the world. Sometimes, if I was lucky I would catch a glimpse of a fluttering bird, a loose blade of grass, a whiff of fresh air. Eventually, I grew to hate these things. Hate those things which the free took for granted; hate those who were free.
"You're a monster." They would whisper through the slot, "You have to understand. If we let you out, people will see." A twelve year-old brain began to accept such things. And after five years, well, it became a fact of life.
My body had changed over the years; I had become the monster my parents imagined. I must be some kind of sight. Bones jutting sharply at every angle, nearly translucent skin stretched tight over a skeleton, eyes unused like those of a cave-dweller. What human dared look upon me?
I gazed down bitterly at my fingers, bloody and torn from my attempts--futile as they were--at escape. Then running those same fingers through hair that nearly touched the floor, knotted and disgusting from years of neglect.
The slot opened again and I hissed, probably unable to form even the most simple of English words. My vocal chords were useless.
"Nat?" A voice called and I froze, "Natilia?" I hadn't heard my own name in years. Its four simple syllables mocked me. "Honey, are you in there?" The voice--my mother's voice-- spoke in a tone I hadn't heard since I was a child. It was almost caring.
I crouched into a corner, still wary. The horror I had come to expect of my mother was still there, hidden under her weak attempt to coax me out. It was a trap; had to be, they wouldn't just let me out after all this time...would they?
But they couldn't! I am a monster, after all. A ghastly thing. "Natilia, come to my voice sweetie. Come here!" Her voice resembled one you would use when convincing a frightened animal from its home. That's all I was though, right? A beast.
As I shrunk away, the earth exploded and I screamed in terror. I screamed as the blinding light seared my body like red-hot knives. I screamed as I realized there had been a door the entire time. And I screamed when my mother, father, and two other men walked into the room.
I screamed myself into unconsciousness.
A hole in the ground has become my home. Away from my parents, away from the scorn of humanity, yet close enough to keep a carefully guarded eye on.
A slot in the wall opens and closes twice a day for food, something dry and stale and generally wretched. They expect me to gather my own water from where it leaks into the cellar through the ground. Thus I manage to keep myself alive.
My eyes, having grown weak and cloudy in the nearly non-existent light, screamed in agony when the slot opened. Onto the ground would drop a slice of stale bread, a pack of powdered saltines, or today's moldy peach.
I slithered across the damp floor, attempting to avoid that fearful light. The first year I was locked in this personal Hell, I craved the light. It was all I had left of the world. Sometimes, if I was lucky I would catch a glimpse of a fluttering bird, a loose blade of grass, a whiff of fresh air. Eventually, I grew to hate these things. Hate those things which the free took for granted; hate those who were free.
"You're a monster." They would whisper through the slot, "You have to understand. If we let you out, people will see." A twelve year-old brain began to accept such things. And after five years, well, it became a fact of life.
My body had changed over the years; I had become the monster my parents imagined. I must be some kind of sight. Bones jutting sharply at every angle, nearly translucent skin stretched tight over a skeleton, eyes unused like those of a cave-dweller. What human dared look upon me?
I gazed down bitterly at my fingers, bloody and torn from my attempts--futile as they were--at escape. Then running those same fingers through hair that nearly touched the floor, knotted and disgusting from years of neglect.
The slot opened again and I hissed, probably unable to form even the most simple of English words. My vocal chords were useless.
"Nat?" A voice called and I froze, "Natilia?" I hadn't heard my own name in years. Its four simple syllables mocked me. "Honey, are you in there?" The voice--my mother's voice-- spoke in a tone I hadn't heard since I was a child. It was almost caring.
I crouched into a corner, still wary. The horror I had come to expect of my mother was still there, hidden under her weak attempt to coax me out. It was a trap; had to be, they wouldn't just let me out after all this time...would they?
But they couldn't! I am a monster, after all. A ghastly thing. "Natilia, come to my voice sweetie. Come here!" Her voice resembled one you would use when convincing a frightened animal from its home. That's all I was though, right? A beast.
As I shrunk away, the earth exploded and I screamed in terror. I screamed as the blinding light seared my body like red-hot knives. I screamed as I realized there had been a door the entire time. And I screamed when my mother, father, and two other men walked into the room.
I screamed myself into unconsciousness.