Mr. Henry yelled out sales prices. Minty barked and moaned from his chain next to Mr. Henry. Cole and Cecil sat next to each other, looking bored and tapping the worn down rusty chairs they were sitting on. And I sat in a tiny box, shielded from view.
I could see all this because of a little hole in the side of my small old box. I had been slowly, ever so slowly scraping the box with my chipped and cracked nails as to make a hole to see the world from. I had to be careful, or else my noise would attract Mr. Henry, and he would come look and see the hole, and I'd probably get a smack or two from his dreaded whip.
The whip originally appeared as a nice, new clean leather strip on a little handle of wood. But after months of whipping me for disobedience, the whip had become a cruel, spiked and bloody stiff weapon. Every time he hit me it got worse and worse, and I had been really careful as to not disturb him as much in the recent past.
Cole is my favorite. At least, he is the best of the worst. He tried his hardest not to beat me with the whip hard. And sometimes when Mr. Henry, his dad, would yell at him for
not hitting hard enough, he would give me a look of pity and sympathy and then bring the whip down on me with a painful and horrible CRACK!
Once, a few weeks ago, Mr. Henry kept pressuring Cole to whip me harder and harder and lash me until my sides bled. Cole looked like he was in physical pain after hitting me so hard, and he had tears in his eyes. Before he hit me with all his strenght, he murmured a quiet, almost unintelligible "sorry" to me. For that one sorry, for even just a tiny bit of sympathy, Mr. Henry went and whipped his own son.
But that sorry changed me inside. I could never thank him enough for that. And I could never forget the fear in his eyes when his own father raised the whip and brought it down on his shoulder, leaving a red mark. I could never forget the way he hunkered down and clenched his eyes as if that would help with the pain.
Because they didn't understand the pain I went through every time they hit me with that whip. But me and Cole shared one attribute. We were both afraid of Mr. Henry, so much that Cole didn't ever attempt to show sympathy to me again after that lashing by that dreaded whip. Now he just stared at me coldly, his heart closed to emotion, and smack the whip down.
The only person I hated more than Mr. Henry in this whole wide world was Cecil. Cecil was Cole's twin sister, but that looked nothing alike. While Cole had dark hair that was a sort of auburn, and deep green eyes like a lush rainforest habitat, Cecil had light, wavy brown-blond hair that reflected the sun, stormy gray eyes that showed no mercy, and beautiful red lips like a rose. People fawned over her cold beauty, young and old, and she paid no attention to them at all. She was extremely rude, and although she never actually whipped me, she showed no regret when she screamed at Mr. Henry to do it for her.
Mr. Henry would do anything for his daughter Cecil, and he never complained or questioned him when it came to her bossing him around. Occasionally, if Cecil felt like being extra mean and nasty, she would come over to my box and kick it extra hard, making my whole body lurch and sprawl out in a very painful position. Whenever this happened, Cecil would laugh a hard, black hearted laugh and snicker at my bloody bruised arms and my scratched up face.
Long ago when I first came to them all, I would cry when they kicked and whipped me. This fueled them, and they would chuckle and do it more and more, watching until I had no more tears to cry and I was just empty sobbing. During this time, Cole would look really uncomfortable and shuffle away. Then Cecil would fling her wrist and sigh a "cool girl" sigh and roll her eyes as if the whole thing was stupid and didn't matter, even though she was the one who had issued it in the first place. Finally, at long last Mr. Henry would walk away too, mumbling about not making enough money and wasting his time.
During these times I would let them walk away and not make a single noise as to draw them back to me and start the whole process again. This is how my day went, waiting and staying still, slowly scraping away at my little hole, trying in vain to be free.
Ever since they got me, they never worried about me escaping. During the first night, Cecil suggested they tie me up in the box, but then she looked at me once more and decided against it. There was no way I could escape, even if I tried. Their dog, Minty, could smell me and hear me from a mile away, and if I was ever to do something mischievous, she would bark and alert me. And even if I somehow managed to get out of the box without Minty hearing me, I would still have to move away before they could catch me. And even if I worked on leaving super quietly the whole night, I would still only make it about 30 yards down the dirty, dusty road before I stepped on some stray trash in the dark and Cecil would realize I was gone and yell that Mr. Henry should go get me. And even if that didn't happen, even if by some miracle I made it, it has been so long I'm not even sure my weak, scrawny bleeding legs could carry me. So I never tried to escape. If wouldn't be worth it, just to get extra whippings and beatings until I couldn't feel my face anymore. I had tried once. Tried. And failed.
I came from a once rich family far away from this dusty old terrible place. Where I was, I had a loving mother and father, sister and brother. My sister's name was Terisa, and she was the best. I remember it vividly now, her warm smile and bright eyes always seeming to bring the best out of people. My brother, Skyler, was honest as a whip, and he was a perfect student in all his classes. I had been there, too. Me, with my glorious head of thick hair, and my collection of rocks of every hue of the rainbow. I was always the eye-catching one, elegant and gentle. And without all the dirt and grime covering me now I probably still would be. It all vanished in a snap.
It started with a man at the doorway. He claimed to be the tax collector. My mother, being a large fan of showing off our house, decided to let him in. He had stepped onto our lush, soft carpets without hesitation. He had looked me in the eye as he did this, and he winked, as if we were sharing a secret. Which we weren't.
As my mother loaded heaps of food onto the table, the man did something I would never forget. I'm still not sure exactly what he did, but I knew it was him. It had to be him. Only a day later, my whole family had dropped dead. My amazing sister. My smart brother. My lovely mother and father.
The next day, he came in again, claiming to be coming to adopt me - the orphan. I knew not trust him, but he yanked me into his automobile along with two huge guards to keep my screaming at bay. For weeks, months, he used me as a science experiment, testing and retesting medicines and vials of who-knows-what on me. He claimed he could find a cure to what was making everyday people sick, but he never succeeded. Instead, he ended up giving me skin like iron, thick and tough. Eventually he let me go, finding no more use for me. I was useless. I was nothing anymore. I was picked up by Mr. Henry and Cecil and Cole, alone on the streets. They quickly discovered my skin and used it for money. They put me up in a cage, and let people throw things at me, "The Kid With Iron Skin".
Now, Mr. Henry pulls me by my ragged shirt collar out of the box. I am blinded by the bright sunlight and vivid colors around me, just as I am every day during this time. I hear Cecil drawing customers in by waving a flier, Cole pulling money from people's willing hands as they shove it at him. I hear the hoarse yelling of Mr. Henry, advertising me. The banner above me, painted all in bright colors, colors I hated more than anything else in the world, was "The Kid With Iron Skin". People swarm like bees to a hive to see me and throw anything they can find at me. Most of the time it doesn't hurt, at least it hurts less than the whipping I would get if I blocked the items or dodged them. People had come to see me.
Me.
Me the freak.
The freak in the box.

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Thanks for reading!
To be continued in the next short story..........

Runaway Freak