Page No: 23 Christmas Issue 2015
Creative Writing: 1st Chapter of My Book ...
The sweat rolled down the back of my neck. Too clichéd? Yeah I kind of agree, and to be honest, there was no sweat at all considering I was in Minnesota. Just to be clear I am not speaking aloud at the moment, these are my thoughts, which are very loud in my head. Imagine how weird it would be if it was me talking to myself! That would be strange, the first sign of madness they say. For now it is better if I keep my sadistic and narcissistic thoughts to myself. That way no one can ridicule or make comments. Unless they can read my thoughts - I really hope they can’t. I don’t believe in mind reading but considering what I have learnt in the past 24 hours nothing would surprise me. I’ll stop rambling now and we can get on with the story. I could usually tell the time from the stars and the position of the sun, thanks to my dad, but there was absolutely no window, only a closed steel door, and the only light came from a bare light bulb. Dad liked to teach me about survival things like that. We went camping, hunting, made bows and arrows. I like to think I can look after myself. Now it has all just blurred into one but I still remember the lessons. I think he did it to help me forget about mum but it didn’t really work on me, or him. Sometimes I would hear him cry out in his sleep, or I would hear him tossing and turning, unable to sleep. It had all started when Dad received a phone call. It was at the end of the day just after I had come home from school and Dad had come home from work. The ringing cut though the silence like a razor blade causing me to jump off my stool in a quick movement fuelled by surprise. I went downstairs to find out who would be calling, the phone hardly ever rang. Nan maybe, or one of my friends, or more specifically my one friend, Casper. When I reached the kitchen I froze the moment I saw Dad’s face, it was colder and harder than the ice that stuck my feet to the floor. Who was it? Anyone I knew? Who or what could cause Dad to have this facial expression of complete hatred? Then dad put down the phone and said “Bart, we have to leave now”. “But dad...” I began to reply. But was then cut off by an icy stare. “I don’t want to talk about it, just go upstairs. In your cupboard in the bottom right corner there is a loose floor board, underneath that is a bag filled with spare clothes and other stuff”. “But ...” “No just go, you can ask questions later when we’ve got moving”. Begrudgingly, I gave in and trudged upstairs. As I began removing the floorboards questions started buzzing around in my head like an angry swarm of bees. Why did he have these things here, how long had they been here? I finally managed to jimmy the large outdoor bag from between the floorboards. I didn’t look in the bag quite yet. I was too afraid. I didn't want to know how well dad had prepared. Looking back, I am quite glad I didn’t, because if I had looked in the bag I probably wouldn’t have left my room at all. After I picked up the bag I walked down into the hall and saw dad wearing the kind of camouflage suit you would find in an army surplus store. He also had a bag so stuffed you could see the seams struggling to contain everything. Just as I was about to ask him what the hell he was wearing, he disappeared, poofed, vanished, whatever you want to call it, he was no longer there! Suddenly I heard a crash and looked up to find a metallic cylinder, that had just come crashing through the door window releasing some type of drug then it all went dark. Next thing I knew I was here sitting in this La-Z-Boy from hell, tied up with barbed wire instead of zip-ties. I spent a very long time waiting until I heard a click at the door, finally. Then a man walked in dressed in some type of metal armour. It looked like quicksilver, constantly shifting and changing, it looked so cool and also really scary, and then there has his face. His face looked as though it was split into three parts and covered in scales, it was strange to say the least. He stared at me for what seemed like an age and when he finally did speak it was as though he had a lisp, his s’ were extenuated to the point that it sounded as if he was hissing! He said “Hello Bartholomew. Our name is Ssscimitor, we are
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