Lucien
11-08-07, 12:35 PM
(Closed)
His mouth was dry. His eyes were sore. His body ached, as it lay nearly lifeless on an uneven slab of wood; and yet his mind still raced.
The boy was noticeably frightened as his thin mouth contorted and his eyes darted about the room lit only by trace amounts of sunlight that seeped through the cracks. Shadows were all around him, their long tendrils extending to his pale form. Mold seemed like a presence in the air; the smell was nearly toxic when it combined with wisps of scented oils that were lit somewhere else in the building.
As feeling slowly returned to his numb body, Lucien rolled and writhed to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He felt the lumps of distorted wood jam into his spine, and small slivers of oak penetrate into his bareback. He quickly realized his shirt was missing and had only a thin coating of sweat to cover him. The boy strained his neck, thankful to find he still had his pants. ”Where the hell am I?”
As he tried to raise his groggy form, he noticed his arms would not respond even though he could feel them. The cold touch of iron circulated his wrists; he was shackled.
A shiver ran through Lucien’s entire body. What was once fear had become pure horror as the realization that he was here against his will and at the mercy of another became clear. He writhed and struggled against his restraints and his sore limbs. A hoarse cry came from his throat; what was as quiet as a whisper to the world was a hellish scream to the boy.
His mouth was dry. His eyes were sore. His body ached, as it lay nearly lifeless on an uneven slab of wood; and yet his mind still raced.
The boy was noticeably frightened as his thin mouth contorted and his eyes darted about the room lit only by trace amounts of sunlight that seeped through the cracks. Shadows were all around him, their long tendrils extending to his pale form. Mold seemed like a presence in the air; the smell was nearly toxic when it combined with wisps of scented oils that were lit somewhere else in the building.
As feeling slowly returned to his numb body, Lucien rolled and writhed to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He felt the lumps of distorted wood jam into his spine, and small slivers of oak penetrate into his bareback. He quickly realized his shirt was missing and had only a thin coating of sweat to cover him. The boy strained his neck, thankful to find he still had his pants. ”Where the hell am I?”
As he tried to raise his groggy form, he noticed his arms would not respond even though he could feel them. The cold touch of iron circulated his wrists; he was shackled.
A shiver ran through Lucien’s entire body. What was once fear had become pure horror as the realization that he was here against his will and at the mercy of another became clear. He writhed and struggled against his restraints and his sore limbs. A hoarse cry came from his throat; what was as quiet as a whisper to the world was a hellish scream to the boy.