A Short Story: Set Upon Me

[Snivy063]

SET UPON ME
A short story by Snivy063
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I sit and watch the clock as it slowly ticks towards the end of class. Tick, tock, tick, tock. The class is still, the only sounds to be heard are my peers' steady breathing and the ticking of the clock; almost deafeningly loud in the near-silence of the room. The general mood of the room is heavy with anticipation; cold, hard, almost mutinous anticipation. None of us want to be here, and everyone is anxious to leave. "Linda," our teacher, Seth, calls, and I lift my head, breaking the soothing quiet of my casual dozing. I look at him and raise my eyebrows in response, too lethargic to reply verbally.
"Would you mind closing that window?" he asks politely.
"'Kay," I respond sluggishly, and comply with his request. I then lay my head in my arms and continue to doze. I can feel my classmates becoming less tense, sighing in relief, the bell must be about to ring. I listen for the clock, and hear the steady sound of time slowly passing once again. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Then, with a vibrating blare, the bell rings, and the classroom springs to life. All of my slothful classmates have suddenly been imbued with new life as they jump out of their seats and rush out the door, occasionally stopping to say goodbye to Seth. I gather my rucksack and brush my light hair over my right shoulder, before taking my phone out of my pocket as I leave the room. I dial my friend Mae and hit the loudspeaker button. The school is clearing rapidly, so I have no fear of being overheard.
"Hello?" a familiar voice says, and I smile.
"Mae, it's me, are you out of class?"
"Obviously," she says snidely, and I frown slightly at the sardonic tone in her voice.
"Want to do something this afternoon?" I ask, examining my phone.
"No can do, I'm meeting Daniel in about twenty minutes and we're going to have dinner," she says, pronouncing her boyfriend's name suggestively.
"You're such a harlot," I laugh, "well I've got to go, my phone's about to die."
"Alright, I'll talk to you later-" she was saying as my phone cut out.
"Awesome," I say irritably, and shove the phone in my pocket. I start walking towards the car park, thinking about what I'm going to do tonight. Probably do my nails, this sparkling blue is beginning to peel off. Then my mind strays to other things; school, work, whether I remembered to feed Tess, our Labrador, this morning. The school feels like a ghost town; there's literally nobody around. I turn a corner and walk into the car park. No cars. Obviously strange, but nothing worth looking into, I must have just been slow today. I turn out of the gate and start casually strolling down Stockford Street, taking my iPod from my rucksack. The screen's cracked and part of it is blackened with age, but it's still useable. I fumble around with the earphones a bit, getting them untangled, before putting them into my ears and picking a song- an old one by the Beatles. I start thinking about how music has changed so much, meaningful songs like this shoved out of the spotlight to make way for the dribble that most artists produce today.

***

When my mind is finally off of that subject, I find myself utterly lost in some suburb that I'm completely unfamiliar with. I take my earphones out and cram the iPod into my pocket, becoming increasingly worried. I take a few glances at my surroundings, trying to make some sense of the situation. The place seems to be a kind of slum; run-down buildings, shops with windows boarded up, steam rising from the sewers. You know, typical movie-type scene. I walk into a shop that looks half-decent; a florist, it would seem, judging by the mass arrays of flowers organized in pretty bunches on small tables inside. As soon as I enter, the aroma hits me. It's amazing, the mix of scents; lavender, rose, honeysuckle, all working harmoniously to distract me from what I was in here to do. I snap out of this aroma-induced trance and walk quickly to the counter, hands wrapped around myself protectively. A woman is standing at the counter; she smiles warmly, wearing half-spectacles and sporting a messy bob in her light brown hair. The overall effect is quite pleasing, she looked very welcoming.
"Can I help you, dear?" she smiles at me.
"Uh, yes," I say haphazardly, trying to think of what to say, "would you be able to tell me how to get to Colmar?"
She thinks for a moment, "oh yes, one moment, I think I have a map in the back," she says as she bustles into the back room.
I spot a mirror to my left, and look into it casually. I notice my light brown hair hanging over my face, giving me a pretty frightening look, almost like I was mental. I quickly brush it over my ear and adjust my jacket a little. Then I look behind myself in the mirror, and see the street outside. It's getting dark. I take my iPod out of my pocket and see that it's about 5PM, then put it away as the lady comes out from the back room holding a rolled up piece of paper that looks like it hasn't been used in years. She lays it on the counter and flattens it, moving a flower petal out of the way as she does so, and starts moving her finger around, locating my suburb.
"Colmar!" she exclaims as she finally finds it, "right there."
I learn forward and try to read the map upside down, "and where are we?" I inquire.
"We're here, in Clarence," she responds, moving her hand about ten centimetres from where Colmar was located on the map. I check the scale on the map; it's about seven and a half kilometres from the flower shop. This isn't good.
I exhale slowly, "thank you," I mutter, and examine the map a bit more closely, "so which direction do I go from here?"
"Once you exit the shop, turn left, and then follow this street until you get to the end, you should be at the gardens. Then just turn left and you'll find yourself walking straight towards Colmar," she says kindly.
"Alright, I know where to go from the gardens, thank you!" I say with a smile, grateful for her hospitality.
I turn and leave, greeted by a cold chill as I leave the warm, scented shop. I cross my arms and huddle into my jacket as I begin the trek down the road. Fifteen minutes later the darkness has consumed the world, hardly any light to be seen; the streetlights in Clarence seemed to enjoy being broken. I start to feel unnerved as I make my way through the derelict street, avoiding the rubbish and general mess of the slum. I begin to think about the little amount of human life that I've seen so far; a few people passed me a few blocks back, but that's it. It seems that Clarence is deserted tonight, I think to myself. Ironically, it was on that thought that I was grabbed from behind and dragged, stunned, into a nearby alleyway.

***

I was shocked to the core. I couldn't figure out what was happening: my mind had just gone completely numb. I could see though. I could see the entrance of the alley fading into the white smoke that left a foggy cloak over this area of town. It wasn't long before the entrance had vanished completely. Needless to say, I figured that would be as good a time as any to get vocal. What an idea that was. As soon as I opened my mouth to yell out for help, a hand reached down and pinched my lips shut. The unknown figure walked on a little further, and then we stopped. The hand grasping my mouth released me, and I was thrown onto the cold, slimy bitumen. My lips were still hurting, and the pain from being flung onto the ground wasn't helping either, but I begin to regain control of my senses. I look up, and see a man towering over me, his breathing creating fog in the cool night air. It was a truly terrifying situation, and I was frozen with shock once again. The man sinks to ground level and gets on top of me, his mouth not an inch away from my own. I can smell stale whiskey and cigarettes on his breath as he inhales and exhales very slowly, as if trying to make the smell sink into my pores. He puts his lips on my neck, and I twitch a little at the feel of his stubble prickling on my skin. It feels unwelcome, wrong, an alien feeling. My mind is set on telling him to get off me, but I'm too paralysed with fear to do anything physically. As he moves further down, I try to get away; not physically, but mentally. I retreat into the furthest corners of my mind, trying to escape reality, with little success. And all the while I feel his lips on me; his stubble prickling against my skin; his hot breath penetrating my skin and leaving me feeling slimy and dirty. Suddenly he's pulling my underwear down. No. No, he can't. I writhe and struggle, but he's too strong, and successfully manages to get my knickers down to my ankles. I can feel hot tears coming out of my eyes as I whimper quietly at the truth of what's about to happen. He gets up onto his knees and begins to unbutton his trousers, and I struggle a little more, weakly, a pathetic attempt to throw him off. But it doesn't work. His pants are suddenly down, and I resort to extreme measures. Using the little strength I had left, I pulled in my right leg, and extended it forward in a strong thrust, out into his crotch. He gasps and moans and I know I achieved the desired result as he crumples to the ground, holding his ground and making harsh, whimpering noises. Given new energy and strength at my small victory, I manage to shakily get up onto my knees as he's distracted, and pull my underwear back up. I try to quietly move around the heaping mass on the ground in front of me, and am almost successful in doing so. But at this point, he's recovered from my assault on his private area, and seems thoroughly pissed off.
"Oh no you don't, you little *****," he grunts, and lunges at my ankle, bringing me back down to the ground and bringing forth another round of salty, hot tears from my eyes. In just a matter of seconds he's towering over me again: a figure of immense rage. His face is contorted in pain, there are marks on his face where he's wiped away tears, and there is a small amount of drool coming out of his mouth. He wasn't happy, I could see that. What I didn't expect was the flash of silver as he withdrew a knife from his jacket pocket. Time seemed to stop then and there, and for a brief moment we both watched the knife. It was like the knife was all that mattered in the world.

Then he plunged it into my gut.

In that brief moment of absolute pain as he stuck the smooth blade into my stomach, I knew what was going to happen. He was going to run, appalled at what he did. I was going to be left in the alley, bleeding to death, smelling of stale whiskey and burnt tobacco. Then the pain really hit me, and I began to scream. I tried to scream, I did, but during the time that I was quite literally seeing the rest of my life flash before my eyes, the blood had already begun to gush into my throat, cutting off any chance I had at talking or screaming. I began to thrash about, trying to throw my arms about. It was a feeble attempt: being stabbed takes a lot of energy out of you. Sure enough, the man simply stood up and stared for a moment, then proceeded to back off quite quickly out of the alleyway, seeming to trip on something on the way. But at this point, my vision was going out of focus; I could barely see anything, everything was just a grey mess. My abdomen was burning, oh boy was it burning. It was like the knife had been dipped in boiling wax before being stuck into my gut. I muster the strength to feel around for the knife handle, and try fiddling with it: terrible idea. In an instant the scorching feeling radiated throughout my body, causing me to jerk and twitch uncontrollably. I cough suddenly and feel warm, sticky blood land on my eyes and nose. My mind was no longer in the right place: for some reason I begin wondering what would have been for dinner, had I not been abducted and brutally assaulted. I giggled: an irrational sound; one that was interrupted by a soft splutter as more blood escaped my mouth and ran down the side of my face. Minutes pass, and the pain begins to subside, only to be replaced with a numb throbbing. Like a heartbeat beginning at my stomach and vibrating through my body. Then everything went black.

***

My first conscious thought since then is a strange one. I'm on the edge of a cliff, standing bare-foot in a small patch of wild flowers. I could hear the soft crash of waves against the cliff face, and smell the subtle blend of sea-salt and flowers. I then remember what had happened only moments ago, and instantly put my hand on my stomach, becoming aware that I'm wearing a white, lace-adorned dress that swayed ever so slightly in the soft breeze that accompanied the smells and sounds of my location. I feel for the wound where a knife was impaled through me, only to find a soft, puckered scar in its place. I exhale, trying to think. Where am I? Am I dead? So many questions racing through my mind, it was so difficult to focus on just one thing that I wanted to know.
It was then that I became aware of a small girl that was sitting in the patch, not two meters away from me. She was wearing an eerily similar white dress, and was picking flowers and making chains out of them.
"Hello?" I ask warily, still attempting to make sense of this in my mind.
The girl stiffens and slowly turns around. As she sees me, her eyes light up. "Lynnie!" she exclaims, quickly standing up and running to me, embracing me in a hug, "I was wondering when you'd get here!"
"What?" I say thickly, confused by the young girl's sudden show of affection.
"Don't you remember, Lynnie? You said you'd play with me. But you never showed up," her expression falls slightly as she says it, but then a smile that reaches her eyes is back on her face, "but you're here now! You can make poppy chains with me!"
"Why are we making poppy chains?" I inquire, distracted from the situation.
"Poppies symbolise eternal sleep," she says simply, in a monotone voice that contrasts deeply with how she had spoken before this point, "it's good to make the deceased a poppy chain, it makes it seem like they're not so far away."
"Am I dead?" I say as I remember what happened.
"Not yet," the little girl says, and I detect a faint voice echoing her sweet little girls' chime: a voice that sounds harsh and crackly, as though it hadn't had a drink in days, "but almost," she says, the second-voice becoming slightly more pronounced, then she smiles at me sweetly.
"What do you mean by that?" I ask, becoming increasingly terrified of her, "why did you say 'almost?'"
"Because you can't move on without your poppy chain, silly!" she exclaims happily, the cheerful, honeyed tones in her voice becoming more and more overpowered by the harsh, dry rasp.
We say no more as I walk towards the girl and sit down next to her. I pick a handful of poppies and begin crafting an intricate chain out of them. Nothing more is said for hours; or it could have been days, I had no perception of time here. We just made little chains out of the poppy flowers in the patch. Finally, I speak up.
"How do we know when we're done?"
She stares at me angrily, "you'll know," she says. I'm taken aback: the little girl's voice is now muted, leaving room only for the dry, scathing rasp that seems so out of place coming from this girl's mouth.
I continue making chains for a little while more, but curiosity gets the better of me again. "What's your name?" I ask, as sweet as possible considering how dreadfully frightened I was.
She looks at me again, with an expression of pure loathing and hatred on her face. She opens her mouth to talk, and I can hear slight rasps coming from her throat.
"Linda!" a drastically familiar voice calls, "it's time to go, sweety!"
"Alright, mummy, I'm coming!" the girl calls back, her sweet voice back again, and proceeds to take all of the poppy chains she had made thus far and put them on my wrists, urging me to do the same with the ones I had made. After this, we both stand up and Linda hugs me again, "I don't think we'll see each other again, but it was fun playing with you!" she chimes, and then runs towards a now-visible four-wheel-drive in the distance with a figure leaning on the bonnet.
"Mum?" I whisper under my breath, feeling more scared than ever, standing on the edge of this cliff, dozens of poppies wrapped around my wrists and arms.
Linda hugs my mother and they both get into the car without a backward glance at the teenager standing in the flower patch. The car reverses a bit, and then turns and drives into the distance. The sound of the cliff-edge fades out, and all colours seem to drain from the surroundings, leaving nothing but white. White, as far as the eye can see. I lift a poppy chain up to my mouth and kiss it softly.
"It's time to go on," I say simply, and take my first step into the endless white oblivion that lay ahead.

~ fin ~
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