Two in one day!
Title: Security
Author: Nihilism
Rating: R for dark themes
Notes: This might not make sense to some people. Just think...Catholic reform school, isolation. And no disclaimer for this one because I OWN ALLLLLL. Except Gregory, who was graciously donated as a plot device by Kyu.
Lee sits against one wall, curled into the protective position he's adapted on instinct. It's a gesture that begs for warmth more than anything else. There's nothing down here to be protected from, anyway. The wall is a scant five feet across, or close to, and Lee is starting to think that maybe he's been down here longer than he thought, because when he first arrived he could lay flat against the wall. Now he sort of has to curl in on himself. His hair is longer too, he could chew on it now - not that he would, because it's filthy and probably wouldn't taste very good at all - but when he arrived, it was only half an inch or so from his scalp.
The air is cold, but it's the sort of cold that's like a bank vault. Dry, untouched, secure. Though he knows there's water somewhere nearby because sometimes he can hear the steady drip of it, hear it trickling down a moss and mold covered wall to plink quietly against the smooth stone floor. He supposes that must happen when it rains, since it doesn't happen all the time. But he can't really remember what rain is anymore, it seems like a distant, fuzzy dream, or something he once read in a story. Like the sunshine, like fresh air, like freedom. These are all just dreams now for Lee, and he's not even sure if his dreams recount these things correctly.
He likes to dream though, it's his only chance of escape from this tiny room. He sleeps and sleeps and sleeps until he just can't sleep anymore. Wrapped in the single threadbare blanket that Gregory was 'kind' enough to provide when Lee's clothing had been torn to shreds in one of the earlier fits of despair.
Gregory.
The only break in monotony down here, except for the dreams. And the dreams are much more pleasant. Though Gregory provides him with food, at intervals that Lee can only guess is once or twice a week - never enough to keep up his strength; hardly enough to keep him alive. Sometimes he'll bring a basin of water, never more than lukewarm, and Lee can feel his greedy eyes on him from outside the cell as he washes himself. Then, sometimes, he'll talk.
Lee hates it the most when he talks. Gregory sometimes will go on for hours. About how Lee is a heathen; a wrathful creature unworthy of God's love, or anyone else's for that matter. He'll tell him that his soul is sick, and that they had to hide him away down here, not only for his safety but for the safety of the other children in the school. If he weren't down here, they might become corrupted by whatever seemed to rot out Lee's heart from the inside, and then there would be no hope of reforming any of them. Then, there's always the promises.
"They're going to let you out soon, Lee. As long as you're a good boy. And you want to be let out, don't you?"
Lee hates Gregory, but more than he hates the priest, he hates the fact that Gregory has been the only thing to keep him alive so long. He shudders unconciously at the thought of what usually follows, and uncurls his sore muscles to stand up. He paces the edges of the room, counting four steps along each wall, avoiding the large grate that takes up the middle of the room. He can hear running water down there sometimes, too, and hates to think that there's something further down than where he is. That's Hell, he sometimes muses, even though he knows in his heart that Hell is just another story Gregory makes up to make him feel bad, to manipulate him to his will in hopes of 'being a good boy' to get out of this prison. Besides, if there were a Hell, he's convinced he already knows it quite well.
He's reached the door now, directly across from where he was sitting before. The blanket draped around his shoulders slips down a bit as he lifts his hands, wrapping his thin fingers around the metal bars in the door. He can't remember the last time he could feel the tips of his fingers. The dim light in the hallway that always foretells Gregory's presence is off, and the hallway outside the tiny window is no more light than the cell itself. No draft blows past, reassuring him that he's underground, some deep, dank, forgotten place, and that no one can hear him scream.
He doesn't scream anymore. For a while that's all he did. Scream and scream and hope that someone would hear him, until his throat ran dry and he was incapable of screaming anymore. When he realized it was starting to make him sound like a fifty year old chain-smoking scotch-drinking meth addict, he stopped screaming. No one ever heard him, anyhow. He might have prayed for help back then, too, but now he knows that prayers are a dirty thing spoken by the priest, also for manipulation. So now, he doesn't pray; he doesn't even venture as far as to hope.
With a resigned sigh that scratches at the inside of his raw throat, Lee walks back around the opposite wall to his earlier position. Perching on the floor, he draws the blanket tight around himself again and hopes that soon he'll be able to sleep again. His ears, the hearing heightened from so long of not being able to see anything, catch the sound of a rat with it's sharp little claws skritch-skritching across the stone floor. And then farther off, a hollow sort of noise that could be a door closing. His eyelids start to droop.
Before he can drift off into a restless sleep, the lightbulb in the hallway flickers on. It makes a buzzing noise that he's come to hate almost as much as the light itself and what it usually foreshadows. He waits for the sound of Gregory's voice, or his footfalls. Only this time, they don't come.
This time, a different voice cuts through the air. Soft and cautious, perhaps even a bit sedated, with a gentle lilt to it that makes the word Headmaster form in Lee's mind. The word, as well as the voice itself, makes the blanket around Lee feel heavier and more comforting than it's felt before. He draws himself to his feet again and listens carefully for anything else.
And just as he's convinced himself it was a trick of his mind, keys jangle near the doorway and there's a brief flash of mussed golden-brown hair from outside of the barred window.
"Truly terrible," that voice like honey and warm spring days is saying. "How we could just forget...three years...someone should have told me, really."
"You have too much to concern yourself over as it is," another voice is reassuring the first. Lee doesn't recognize this one, but is distinctly certain that it's female. "I imagine when poor Father William passed, the boy was forgotten with him."
"Yes, yes," the Headmaster's voice again. More jangling of the keys. Lee steps closer to the door, his eyes widened to take in anything that he might be able to see, too fearful to hope that this isn't a product of his deluded mind. "We've got to make a note that these cells aren't to be used anymore, they're too far down, too easy to forget..."
"Absolutely," the female voice responds. "We'll take these remains - granted there are any - and ship them to his mother, then right away-- "
Her voice dies off as the door swings open. Lee stands before them, wrapped in the thin blanket, shivering with disbelief and staring at the pair through wide eyes.
The man he recognizes instantly as the Headmaster - who before, was an enemy to be feared, and now, is no less than a God - swallows harshly and tries to compose himself. His female companion opens and closes her mouth a few times before finally speaking again.
"Oh my God..."
Author: Nihilism
Rating: R for dark themes
Notes: This might not make sense to some people. Just think...Catholic reform school, isolation. And no disclaimer for this one because I OWN ALLLLLL. Except Gregory, who was graciously donated as a plot device by Kyu.
Lee sits against one wall, curled into the protective position he's adapted on instinct. It's a gesture that begs for warmth more than anything else. There's nothing down here to be protected from, anyway. The wall is a scant five feet across, or close to, and Lee is starting to think that maybe he's been down here longer than he thought, because when he first arrived he could lay flat against the wall. Now he sort of has to curl in on himself. His hair is longer too, he could chew on it now - not that he would, because it's filthy and probably wouldn't taste very good at all - but when he arrived, it was only half an inch or so from his scalp.
The air is cold, but it's the sort of cold that's like a bank vault. Dry, untouched, secure. Though he knows there's water somewhere nearby because sometimes he can hear the steady drip of it, hear it trickling down a moss and mold covered wall to plink quietly against the smooth stone floor. He supposes that must happen when it rains, since it doesn't happen all the time. But he can't really remember what rain is anymore, it seems like a distant, fuzzy dream, or something he once read in a story. Like the sunshine, like fresh air, like freedom. These are all just dreams now for Lee, and he's not even sure if his dreams recount these things correctly.
He likes to dream though, it's his only chance of escape from this tiny room. He sleeps and sleeps and sleeps until he just can't sleep anymore. Wrapped in the single threadbare blanket that Gregory was 'kind' enough to provide when Lee's clothing had been torn to shreds in one of the earlier fits of despair.
Gregory.
The only break in monotony down here, except for the dreams. And the dreams are much more pleasant. Though Gregory provides him with food, at intervals that Lee can only guess is once or twice a week - never enough to keep up his strength; hardly enough to keep him alive. Sometimes he'll bring a basin of water, never more than lukewarm, and Lee can feel his greedy eyes on him from outside the cell as he washes himself. Then, sometimes, he'll talk.
Lee hates it the most when he talks. Gregory sometimes will go on for hours. About how Lee is a heathen; a wrathful creature unworthy of God's love, or anyone else's for that matter. He'll tell him that his soul is sick, and that they had to hide him away down here, not only for his safety but for the safety of the other children in the school. If he weren't down here, they might become corrupted by whatever seemed to rot out Lee's heart from the inside, and then there would be no hope of reforming any of them. Then, there's always the promises.
"They're going to let you out soon, Lee. As long as you're a good boy. And you want to be let out, don't you?"
Lee hates Gregory, but more than he hates the priest, he hates the fact that Gregory has been the only thing to keep him alive so long. He shudders unconciously at the thought of what usually follows, and uncurls his sore muscles to stand up. He paces the edges of the room, counting four steps along each wall, avoiding the large grate that takes up the middle of the room. He can hear running water down there sometimes, too, and hates to think that there's something further down than where he is. That's Hell, he sometimes muses, even though he knows in his heart that Hell is just another story Gregory makes up to make him feel bad, to manipulate him to his will in hopes of 'being a good boy' to get out of this prison. Besides, if there were a Hell, he's convinced he already knows it quite well.
He's reached the door now, directly across from where he was sitting before. The blanket draped around his shoulders slips down a bit as he lifts his hands, wrapping his thin fingers around the metal bars in the door. He can't remember the last time he could feel the tips of his fingers. The dim light in the hallway that always foretells Gregory's presence is off, and the hallway outside the tiny window is no more light than the cell itself. No draft blows past, reassuring him that he's underground, some deep, dank, forgotten place, and that no one can hear him scream.
He doesn't scream anymore. For a while that's all he did. Scream and scream and hope that someone would hear him, until his throat ran dry and he was incapable of screaming anymore. When he realized it was starting to make him sound like a fifty year old chain-smoking scotch-drinking meth addict, he stopped screaming. No one ever heard him, anyhow. He might have prayed for help back then, too, but now he knows that prayers are a dirty thing spoken by the priest, also for manipulation. So now, he doesn't pray; he doesn't even venture as far as to hope.
With a resigned sigh that scratches at the inside of his raw throat, Lee walks back around the opposite wall to his earlier position. Perching on the floor, he draws the blanket tight around himself again and hopes that soon he'll be able to sleep again. His ears, the hearing heightened from so long of not being able to see anything, catch the sound of a rat with it's sharp little claws skritch-skritching across the stone floor. And then farther off, a hollow sort of noise that could be a door closing. His eyelids start to droop.
Before he can drift off into a restless sleep, the lightbulb in the hallway flickers on. It makes a buzzing noise that he's come to hate almost as much as the light itself and what it usually foreshadows. He waits for the sound of Gregory's voice, or his footfalls. Only this time, they don't come.
This time, a different voice cuts through the air. Soft and cautious, perhaps even a bit sedated, with a gentle lilt to it that makes the word Headmaster form in Lee's mind. The word, as well as the voice itself, makes the blanket around Lee feel heavier and more comforting than it's felt before. He draws himself to his feet again and listens carefully for anything else.
And just as he's convinced himself it was a trick of his mind, keys jangle near the doorway and there's a brief flash of mussed golden-brown hair from outside of the barred window.
"Truly terrible," that voice like honey and warm spring days is saying. "How we could just forget...three years...someone should have told me, really."
"You have too much to concern yourself over as it is," another voice is reassuring the first. Lee doesn't recognize this one, but is distinctly certain that it's female. "I imagine when poor Father William passed, the boy was forgotten with him."
"Yes, yes," the Headmaster's voice again. More jangling of the keys. Lee steps closer to the door, his eyes widened to take in anything that he might be able to see, too fearful to hope that this isn't a product of his deluded mind. "We've got to make a note that these cells aren't to be used anymore, they're too far down, too easy to forget..."
"Absolutely," the female voice responds. "We'll take these remains - granted there are any - and ship them to his mother, then right away-- "
Her voice dies off as the door swings open. Lee stands before them, wrapped in the thin blanket, shivering with disbelief and staring at the pair through wide eyes.
The man he recognizes instantly as the Headmaster - who before, was an enemy to be feared, and now, is no less than a God - swallows harshly and tries to compose himself. His female companion opens and closes her mouth a few times before finally speaking again.
"Oh my God..."