I've gone over it in my head, it must be what, a million times now. Every time, I ask myself what happened, and why. There is a lot that remains unanswered, and could possibly be forever.
It all happened back in 1998, latish in the year, but it couldn't have been too late, I'd not long settled to being twelve years old. I was playing in one of the many corridors of home. I forget which one, having grown up around them, you think I should have been able to tell them apart. But they were all bland, all plain, all faceless dungeons that ensnared me from seeing the outside world. I was playing, in my naïve childlike ways, possibly on an adventure, crossing some mystical land, or exploring a vast new jungle, when it happened.
I recall seeing the man's face. He seemed to be upset, or cross at something, I heard a few mutterings, but I didn't know what he was saying, I couldn't understand his words, but I think I could understand his breath, there was a foul and disgusting smell, a sharp and bitter smell, of some sort of liquor, not too dissimilar to the stuff dad used to drink.
Of course, back then, I didn't know any better, and didn't show any fear, or did I move away from him, even when his blurry, yet resentful eyes met mine. It was then that a spark renewed in his eyes. If I could have read the signals quicker, I would have run away, but I was too slow, and too weak to resist him, and his hands caught me, hoisting me shoulder-first away from the ground.
His grip was only released when I was thrown back to the floor, in a manner of violence that I was pained, as he closed the light off me, shutting behind me the door to the cupboard that was now my prison. I banged and screamed, begging for my own freedom, but was met only with screams and banging of a louder, more violent person, telling me I was his hostage now, and that I was going to be in there until he got his job back.
I was lost and confused, crying for a salvation from the harsh and black prison that kept me isolated. That's when it happened. I felt an unnerving change in me, as my crying voice seemed to turn into a howl, as I began to feel bigger, and more animal-like…
And then…
And then…
Nothing. Or at least that I can recall, until I found myself in the room with the cupboard that held me, but that prison cell existed no more, the finely decorated and well kept walls permanently soiled with blood and innards, a smell of death and violence in the air, and myself curled up in the floor, crying, crying like I had when my mother left me when I was a child. This was my first. But I feared it would not be my last, and somehow this would be the truth.
It all happened back in 1998, latish in the year, but it couldn't have been too late, I'd not long settled to being twelve years old. I was playing in one of the many corridors of home. I forget which one, having grown up around them, you think I should have been able to tell them apart. But they were all bland, all plain, all faceless dungeons that ensnared me from seeing the outside world. I was playing, in my naïve childlike ways, possibly on an adventure, crossing some mystical land, or exploring a vast new jungle, when it happened.
I recall seeing the man's face. He seemed to be upset, or cross at something, I heard a few mutterings, but I didn't know what he was saying, I couldn't understand his words, but I think I could understand his breath, there was a foul and disgusting smell, a sharp and bitter smell, of some sort of liquor, not too dissimilar to the stuff dad used to drink.
Of course, back then, I didn't know any better, and didn't show any fear, or did I move away from him, even when his blurry, yet resentful eyes met mine. It was then that a spark renewed in his eyes. If I could have read the signals quicker, I would have run away, but I was too slow, and too weak to resist him, and his hands caught me, hoisting me shoulder-first away from the ground.
His grip was only released when I was thrown back to the floor, in a manner of violence that I was pained, as he closed the light off me, shutting behind me the door to the cupboard that was now my prison. I banged and screamed, begging for my own freedom, but was met only with screams and banging of a louder, more violent person, telling me I was his hostage now, and that I was going to be in there until he got his job back.
I was lost and confused, crying for a salvation from the harsh and black prison that kept me isolated. That's when it happened. I felt an unnerving change in me, as my crying voice seemed to turn into a howl, as I began to feel bigger, and more animal-like…
And then…
And then…
Nothing. Or at least that I can recall, until I found myself in the room with the cupboard that held me, but that prison cell existed no more, the finely decorated and well kept walls permanently soiled with blood and innards, a smell of death and violence in the air, and myself curled up in the floor, crying, crying like I had when my mother left me when I was a child. This was my first. But I feared it would not be my last, and somehow this would be the truth.