That Place

• Stephanie Robson, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2008

Ron had always been aware of the place with the double arches out the front but had never dared to set foot in it. He had been lucky. Times were changing, and he knew that he had to change with them. At the risk of starvation he made his way to the dreary building. Every step he took seemed to make an imprint as he walked down the drive. Unaware of his progress, e was now at the door. He reached to push the glass and the moment his hand connected a chill ran down his spine. Through the mouldy window Ron could make out children unwillingly stuffing their mouths, the poisons forcing smiles on their faces. Ron clutched his churning stomach,closed his eyes, pinched himself to check he wasn't dreaming and pressed against the door. It opened with an uneasy squeak. He stuck his head through the door as if expecting to see something he couldn’t have seen through the clear glass door. Besides the faces of tear ridden children, Ron caught a glimpse of a person, uniformed in a colourful t-shirt that did not seem to match its surroundings, gazing expressionless at the mess that littered the linoleum floor. There was something strange about this, but Ron marginalised those thoughts and focused on his main problem: what was he going to have to force down his throat to calm his gurgling stomach? Among the scattered mess Ron noticed and dirty, half-broken chair and table and sat himself uncomfortably. If it wasn’t like a freezer in the room no one would know hat he was trembling from fear.

Gathering all the strength that he possessed and driven by the unbelievable stabling pain in his stomach, Ron stood up, knees literally knocking against each other and walked cautiously towards the blank face that had been eyeing since he had opened the door. Unable to summon words from his mouth, Ron pointed to a picture above him and handed a rectangular piece of plastic to the impassive face that seemed to burn a hole right through his forehead. In exchange, the person robotically handed him a badly wrapped package.

Ron barely had a good hand on the package before he darted for the door just behind him, still sensing the burning gaze on his back. ‘NO EXIT’ screamed the sign on the door. Ignoring this, Ron frantically flew the door open and sprinted as far away as he could from the nightmarish place. Once out of view, Ron looked at the package; a red liquid was oozing from it and towards his elbow. Unwrapping it ever so cautiously, a scent of rotting flesh wafted to his nostrils. Fighting back the urge to vomit and throw it away, Ron lifted the bundle to his mouth and took a quick, painful bight out of the Big Mac.