Thanks for All the Fish
so long~ and...
Ok guys, this is my first story of...well, anything. It’s about a boy named Scott Lebam, and-well; I don’t want to spoil it.
So, enjoy! Chapter 2 of Empty Wounds coming soon!
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A tall, lanky child sat solitary amongst the beaten-in, almost prisonlike chain link fence. This was his refuge, the one place he had of overall comfort out in the field. Others around him talked, and chatter in high-pitched squeals, their words almost frozen in the chilled air of early December. Leaning against the fence, the boy was lost, deep in the calming sea of his lone thoughts, trying desperately to soothe himself.
A few minutes later, the bark of, “Line up! Line up!” echoed across the arid concrete field. With reluctance, the boy trudged along, groping at his right wrist, which was throbbing with pain.
Bruised and battered, his wrist was the only sign of “Something’s not right.”
If anyone, anyone at all, asked about the almost whipped-in scars covering the bony exterior, he waved the concern and pity away with a, "Oh, it’s just a couple of scratches I got during football," and a grin. That’s what the “lawyer” told him to say. For his own good. And he listened.
Scott didn't know why, why he listened to the lawyer, why anything like this could even happen in a little Jersey suburbia. It was lunch. While many of the kids sat talked, and chucked mush at each others' heads, the boy sat on the floor of a dank bathroom, his spine pressed against the wall,his empty eyes trained straight ahead. Watching.
For what? he asked himself. Deep in the pit in his stomach, he knew. Angst and fear trembled inside his chest, and he let out a watery sob. The sound was multiplied by the lone walls before him. He cocked his head to the side, a common habit for him. The remains of a grin spread across his face. A thought drifted into his troubled mind. One of the few thoughts that wasn't screwed up for all eternety.
"Wow Dad, the clinic is awesome!" Scott said with that cheesy smile all over him.
James LeBam looked down at his son."Yeah...right. Just make sure you don't go in the ER -that's the emergency room, and pal, you'll just get in the way-or the mourge," muttered Mr. LeBam, giving a tired half-smile back
"That's where the dead bodies are, right, Dad?" Scott whispered, pleased with his newfound language.
"Yes. Oh, and Roggy's office is off limits."
"But Da-ad,Uncle Roger's cool!..I'll get in the way, right?"
"No, it's just that Roggy's..pasionate about his cases." A beep broke the silence, and James looked down."Uh-oh, a code. I'll be back soon, Scooter."
The six-year old grinned.
So, in this bubble of pretend, no one,not even his suspicious parents,knew that every day, at three o clock, Scott was dragged into a torture room, against every ounce of willpower he could muster. He never said anything during these "meetings", for he knew all too well the penalty of the truth: cold blood. No one knew that whoever this "lawyer" was, he was torturing a completley innocent thirteen-year old. Well, almost completly innocent... He didn't know that a secret his own family brought upon him was rendering him doomed for two years.
But hell if he was going to tell anyone.
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Short, but it's a start.
So, enjoy! Chapter 2 of Empty Wounds coming soon!
---------------------------------------
A tall, lanky child sat solitary amongst the beaten-in, almost prisonlike chain link fence. This was his refuge, the one place he had of overall comfort out in the field. Others around him talked, and chatter in high-pitched squeals, their words almost frozen in the chilled air of early December. Leaning against the fence, the boy was lost, deep in the calming sea of his lone thoughts, trying desperately to soothe himself.
A few minutes later, the bark of, “Line up! Line up!” echoed across the arid concrete field. With reluctance, the boy trudged along, groping at his right wrist, which was throbbing with pain.
Bruised and battered, his wrist was the only sign of “Something’s not right.”
If anyone, anyone at all, asked about the almost whipped-in scars covering the bony exterior, he waved the concern and pity away with a, "Oh, it’s just a couple of scratches I got during football," and a grin. That’s what the “lawyer” told him to say. For his own good. And he listened.
Scott didn't know why, why he listened to the lawyer, why anything like this could even happen in a little Jersey suburbia. It was lunch. While many of the kids sat talked, and chucked mush at each others' heads, the boy sat on the floor of a dank bathroom, his spine pressed against the wall,his empty eyes trained straight ahead. Watching.
For what? he asked himself. Deep in the pit in his stomach, he knew. Angst and fear trembled inside his chest, and he let out a watery sob. The sound was multiplied by the lone walls before him. He cocked his head to the side, a common habit for him. The remains of a grin spread across his face. A thought drifted into his troubled mind. One of the few thoughts that wasn't screwed up for all eternety.
"Wow Dad, the clinic is awesome!" Scott said with that cheesy smile all over him.
James LeBam looked down at his son."Yeah...right. Just make sure you don't go in the ER -that's the emergency room, and pal, you'll just get in the way-or the mourge," muttered Mr. LeBam, giving a tired half-smile back
"That's where the dead bodies are, right, Dad?" Scott whispered, pleased with his newfound language.
"Yes. Oh, and Roggy's office is off limits."
"But Da-ad,Uncle Roger's cool!..I'll get in the way, right?"
"No, it's just that Roggy's..pasionate about his cases." A beep broke the silence, and James looked down."Uh-oh, a code. I'll be back soon, Scooter."
The six-year old grinned.
So, in this bubble of pretend, no one,not even his suspicious parents,knew that every day, at three o clock, Scott was dragged into a torture room, against every ounce of willpower he could muster. He never said anything during these "meetings", for he knew all too well the penalty of the truth: cold blood. No one knew that whoever this "lawyer" was, he was torturing a completley innocent thirteen-year old. Well, almost completly innocent... He didn't know that a secret his own family brought upon him was rendering him doomed for two years.
But hell if he was going to tell anyone.
---------------------------------------
Short, but it's a start.
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