age

Writing- Short Story 'Like an Animal'

Wednesday, 25 June 2014

Part of a short story done during my A-Levels, focusing on the use of an extended metaphor.

 
I didn’t mean to do it. I really didn’t. I was desperate. I would never have done it if I’d had any other choice. I can still hear the scream, still feel his grasp around my wrist and still see the look in his begging eyes. But I needed it. Surely he would understand how much my life depended on it. Surely... he would forgive me.

 

“Right, might as well get you settled in. You’re going to be in here for a while” he said, looking me up and down.

He led me down a blue corridor, just past the office in which a radio was blaring out the news about Dr. King and then some Beatles record.

“He was shot?” I whimpered.  I hadn’t been near a radio for days. He didn’t answer though, just kept walking down the corridor banging on the bars of each cell with his fist.

I was nothing to him. Just a stray dog he’d see on the side walk, a dog he’d kick if it got in his way.

They all were. But they had been locked up in this dog house ever since, howling and wailing to be let out. Scratching and clawing at the bars to be let out, soon getting tired and retreating to a corner of their cage.

“New meat boys!” he shouted, glaring back at me. “He’s a bit mangy, but we’ll soon straighten him out. Be nice when you’re all allowed out to play!” He laughed harshly, so did the other officers back in the office. His echoing footsteps stopped at the 13th cell. He opened the heavy barred doors with a loud careless crash and nudged me in with his foot.

“Now, you’re going to be good while you’re in here. Aren’t you?” His pale sweaty face looked down on me, as I sat gingerly on the thin stiff bed. I was about to mumble a timid yes, but he hadn’t waited for my answer. He’d left, smashing the doors back together behind him and had walked off banging on the bars again.

Tears filling my eyes with the realisation of what a hell this place is, I watched the opposite cell. He was scratching the grey whiskers on his chin, and then curled up into a ball on a bed exactly the same as mine.

I awoke with a sudden “beep” and a loud bang of all the cells opening.

Feeding time.

“What you in for, scrawny?” said growled a deep voice opposite me as I sat down at of the round tables. He was huge. His dark, shiny face gazed at me over his bowl of something that resembled eggs.

I tried to avoid his gaze but they were all looking at me. I don’t know what to tell them. I can barely admit to myself what I did, let alone recite what happened for others to hear.

“Don’t wanna say? Well, we sure as hell will find out sooner or later, so you might as well tell us right here, right now. What? You kill somebody?”

It was at the dead of night, in a back street of Manhattan.

 
Words by Alice Beatty please do not copy or steal with out my consent.

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