Author's Note: hey, guys! This is a little something I wrote after seeing the movie The Purge. I hope you enjoy!
Preface:
My number was 14. I had been told this once a year every year since I was old enough to remember. One by one, the numbers would be called, each number representing a child in the orphanage that I had been in since I was a baby. I was too little to remember the day that they came through the door and struck a deal with the head of the orphanage. I was even too little to remember sticking my hand in the man's hat that he held with him and pulling out a piece of paper with a single number written on it: 14. It had been a heavy weight on my mind ever since the day I was old enough to realize what the purge stood for and what exactly my number went. It was why, one by one, the children before me would numerically disappear each year according to their number.
They were taken out to be sacrificed for the purge.
This is the fourteenth year since the Purgatio showed up and struck this deal with the head of the orphanage. And I am the 14th sacrifice.
I wake in a room I have never been in before. The air is muggy and smells faintly of sawdust and garbage. I look down at my hands and feet and my heart falls to the pit of my stomach. It has already begun. I think back to the morning when Mrs. Miller, the woman in charge of the orphanage, told me that it was my year. Of course I fought her; I fought with everything I had, but she had found a way to drug me and bring me to this place with me unconscious. I must have been here, tied to this wooden chair nailed to the floor all day. I let out a frustrated scream as I work against the ropes binding me. They bite into my skin, rubbing it raw. I sob when I smell the familiar stench of blood and know I have broken skin.
The chair is facing a set of windows, but all I can see is a monotonous brick pattern that was always there and always would be. Through the glare of the sun on the glass, I can see my reflection staring back at me. I am a disheveled mess, my feet bare and bloody, my beige cotton dress ripped at the hem around my knees. My hair is an awful blonde birds nest and my face is dirt caked and tear stained. My face is a mask of defeat.
I had fallen into a fitful sleep, only waking when I heard the unmistakable sound of the lock on the door sliding free. I jump up, suddenly alert, and look around in vain. I can no longer see any reflection in the glass; the sun has gone, taking the light with it, and I am completely submerged in darkness.
Footsteps echo through the dark, slow and cautious. This is definitely not Mrs. Miller in the room with me. I struggle against the ropes, but they are just as tight as they were before; I am still as trapped as I was when I first woke up in this room.
Is this how they did it then? They leave the victims tied to a chair all day only to sneak in as soon as the Purge starts and kill me? Do they say anything? Do they simply walk up to the chair in complete darkness and slit my throat? I have no idea. My heart is racing and I can hear my blood rushing through my ears as I try in vain to free myself.
Suddenly a light blazes up through the room, making me wince. I notice that one of the sconces lining the walls has been lit and that the someone who has lit it is staring at me with one raised eyebrow and a very surprised expression.
He has dark hair, mussed and unkempt, and tanned skin. He seems about my age, maybe older if I have to guess and is wearing a white cotton T shirt and pants tucked into sturdy black boots. His face is angular, with a delicate nose and large, deep-set eyes that study me openly.
I flinch violently when he takes a step toward me, stopping him in his tracks. He looks as though I am a frightened animal he doesn't want to scare off.
"Stay away from me," I warn, surprised that my voice comes out as hoarse as it does.
The boy in the room with me only pauses briefly though, assessing the situation, before starting toward me again slowly.
I struggle against the ropes that bind me frantically, tensing with pain when they brake skin once more. "Don't," I say as he continues toward me.
"I only want to help," he says in what I assume to be a calming tone. And it is rather calming; deep and smooth and warm. He kneels in front of me and I lean as far away from him as I can in the limited space I am given. "My name is Beau," he says, "may I ask yours?"
I merely stare at him with wide eyes. This is the man sent here to kill me, one of the Purgatio, the group that sacrifices children every year for the sake of the Purge. He stares back at me as though he is also surprised at what is before him. His irises are a deep golden color, reminding me of the sun just before it sinks below the horizon, when it casts its light over everything and makes the world appear on fire.
"Do you not know your name?" he asks when I remain silent. "Should we make one up for you?"
"Who are you?" I ask quietly. There is warmth coming off of him; he is much too close to me. "Are you the one that Mrs. Miller is keeping me for? What are you going to do to me?" My voice cracks on the last question and I bite my lip.
He sits back at this, that quizzical gaze still on his face, and I am able to breathe a little easier now that he is a little farther away from me. "No," he says slowly. "And I've already told you who I am."
"What are you doing here?" I press.
"Strictly business, I assure you. I wasn't entirely sure that I would stumble upon a girl locked up in a dark room. Nevertheless." He smiles and I jerk away at the expression on his face, tugging at my bonds and wincing when they bite deeper into my skin.
Beau's smile disappears as he looks down at my tied hands. "You're hurting yourself," he observes, "here." He draws a knife from his belt, glinting dully in the sparse light of the room and I let out a scream at the sight of the gleaming metal.
He smacks a hand over my mouth with a horrified expression on his face.
His hand on my mouth is warm, too warm; I'm finding it hard to breathe. I stare at him wide eyed as he regards me as well.
"I'm here to help;" he says sternly, "so let me do my job."
I keep my mouth shut as he takes his hand from my face and grabs at my left hand. I gasp at the contact and clench my hand into a fist since I wasn't able to pull away. Beau merely rolls his eyes as he slides the blade between the rope and my skin and slices cleanly through.
I pull my hand quickly to my chest, far away from Beau's reach. He doesn't seem at all effected by my reaction at all, simply moves and does the same with my right arm. Once both arms are free and held tightly to my chest, Beau stands and looks down at me.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks.
Shakily, I stand, careful to keep a safe distance between the two of us, and looked at Beau. He was a whole head taller than me. He might be lean, but I could tell underneath the cotton shirt and denim pants he was strong. I didn't stand a chance if it came to a fight between the two of us. He has that look on his face again, as if I am some rare creature that he is trying not to scare off. He's pretty, in this light.
I banish that thought from my mind and take another step back.
And he advances forward. "What are you doing here?" he asksme.
"Don't come any closer," I warn, taking another step back.
He rolls his eyes. "If I was going to hurt you, don't you think I would have when you were all tied up?"
I stop mid-step as I think that out. He could be tricking me. Weren't the Purgatio supposed to be conniving? "What are you doing here?" I ask.
"Like I said, business."
"What kind of business?" Any business he has with these men means nothing good at all. He must be one of them.
He sighs dramatically. "Look, I'm not bartering with the devil or anything. I don't work for the men who are going to kill you tonight. I came to kill them all, but I seem to have found you instead."
"Kill them?"
"Let's just say I have a sort of history with them, and not a good one. I've been waiting a long time to track them down." He looks me up and down before shaking his head slowly. "I bet they had you tied up all day like that. You look awful."
I stagger back as he takes a sudden step toward me. He looks so wary of me; surely someone so suspicious of me would not have been expecting to happen upon me bound to a chair. Maybe he is telling the truth.
"Where do you live?" he asks me gently, taking another cautious step toward me. This time, however, I don't move away. "The orphanage, I'm guessing?"
"How do you know all of this?" I ask, watching him as he took another step, "if you say you're not one of them."
A noise erupts from somewhere through the darkness. I jump and look at Beau to confirm what I had just heard.
"They're here," he says, looking at me. His eyes are wide and earnest when he says, "You don't have to trust me, but I am on your side in this. I will make sure you survive the night. Are you coming with me or not?" He holds out his hand toward me.
I hesitate only a moment before taking it and saying, "My name is Henrietta. But you can call me Henri."
AN: Review and tell me what you think! Till next time!