The Chair

• Alexandra Kelly, Grade 6, Griffith East Public School
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'Read Write Repeat 2015' competition

Silence. Just silence. Then a dripping. Then a whir. Silence. I could feel the rope, wrapped around me like a constrictor. I felt dizzy, yet wildly awake. I was possessed by the Twilight zone. The hunger for a feast of freedom, was eating me up inside.
I heard whispers but-silence. Silent whispers. My hair was draped down, curtaining my face, gently brushing against my skin- my back against the chair. The chair.
I was in sheer darkness. Were my eyes open? I felt my eyelashes flutter against my eyelids. I was awake. Yet there was silence. Deafening silence.
Inhaling, exhaling. Inhaling, exhaling. I smelt burning candles-not the nice kind-the wax, the smoke and the flame. I felt if I breathed, I would only breathe in deathly fumes, and with that, I kind of was.
My deep fear and anger, were working hand in hand, to slowly break me down and fill my insides with frustrations. Envy had the upper hand. I was envious of all of those free; unlike me.
I felt my heartbeat deteriorate, then speed up. Over and over. I was a frail hummingbird sucking at the pollen of horror.
I looked around in fear I might see something my eyes couldn’t handle-freezing and snapping my eyes shut each time I thought I did.
I felt like I was speeding at the pace of light, yet my motionless body lay still, wishing that Hell wasn’t the one holding my hand.
I screamed. I could hear nothing but the echoing of my wretched screams- and silence.
Petrified, aghast and clueless, I tug on the rope. Nothing. Its tight grip clutches me to its chest, like a little teddy bear with a scared child. I would be in this chair forever. Trapped. There was no escape plan. An escape plan is to be created from an active mind- something I didn’t have.
Oh the whispers. The cackles. The silence. I could feel the fear being injected into me, the syringe digging deep into my skin, killing any hopeful bacteria.
There it was. That dark figure-denying to state that there couldn’t be anything darker than that room… or wherever I was.
Reluctantly, I tugged again. A cackle. I couldn’t move.
I remember it all too clearly. The glowing red eyes. The chortles of laughter. The harassment I felt when he grabbed me. The terror I felt when the knife was held against my neck. I saw the blade go up… and go down. Silence.