An old prompt that I decided to re-do [the fifth]
Prompt: Something New
Community: your_scribbles
Title: A broken memory
Rating: R
Warnings: Implies sexual abuse to a minor, pedophilia and self-help meetings
Author's note: Again, why I am surprised, dark fiction. This one, I believe, [so far] is a tad more dark then any of my other stuff. I hope you all don't call me a freak for writing this and I hope you understand what is implied and what the poor man is trying to over come. Anyways, don't read if you have a trigger to any of the warnings, and if intend to flame; I'll eat it for breakfast and also, if you have been to one fo those self-help meetings or whatever, I don't know who they go so please don't correct me.This is how I intended it to be.
When he stood in front of the crowd, he wanted nothing more then to just run away and not be here. But he had to be here, no matter how much he didn't want to, he had to. They sat in little rows, each face more bored then the next. All waiting for his time to be over and for their time to leave.
"H-hello, my name is Benjamin. You can call me Ben." They responded in the usual manner, a bored unapologetic 'hello, Ben.'
He was sweating bullets as he looked around for face e would never know and never want to. He just wants to escape but he if does, there is nothing for him.
"I am here because I have a problem." He digs in his pocket and pulls out an old rusted key. Victorian style and never seemingly to have been used. He let's out another sigh and picks up where he left off.
"This is holds my problem behind a door. A locked door obviously. But not really because, even though it's locked and I've never opened it, my wife has seen what's behind the door. My kids too." He shudders and takes a deep ragged breath. He let out a slow, shallow collected one. He eyes opened and the crowd looked less bored and more confused. He holds it higher and starts to explain.
"My father gave me this key when I was seven. He told me it went to the door in the attic, a place I was never allowed to go unless I was with him or one of his friends. We visited that room, in the beginning, three times a week. As I got older, it became five, and with his friends. Eventually it became daily, sometimes three or four times. With different people. I've never really recovered from this. For it stopped all together when I left home, and when my mother died."
If he didn't have their interest before, he certainly had it now.
He held the key as high as he could. He took a deep breath and let it drop.
"My problem was letting the very idea of the key control my life. I lost all contact with my dad, his friends and anything that reminded me of my life; except for the key. The key, even though it had such a hated memory I could not let it go because without it I would break and he would win."
When it hit the ground it made an empty hollow sound.
"I do not want to repeat the cycle. My name is Benjamin-" His voice gaining more confidence, "-and I am happily married with two children. I am sick and need help. Please help me." He stepped back and the crowd applauded, he gave a small smile and stepped of the stage. The therapist waited for him, she gave him a nod.
"Are you ready to start?" He looked at her.
"Yes." He never looked back, and did not go get the key. For even though it trapped him; it also freed him.
Community: your_scribbles
Title: A broken memory
Rating: R
Warnings: Implies sexual abuse to a minor, pedophilia and self-help meetings
Author's note: Again, why I am surprised, dark fiction. This one, I believe, [so far] is a tad more dark then any of my other stuff. I hope you all don't call me a freak for writing this and I hope you understand what is implied and what the poor man is trying to over come. Anyways, don't read if you have a trigger to any of the warnings, and if intend to flame; I'll eat it for breakfast and also, if you have been to one fo those self-help meetings or whatever, I don't know who they go so please don't correct me.This is how I intended it to be.
When he stood in front of the crowd, he wanted nothing more then to just run away and not be here. But he had to be here, no matter how much he didn't want to, he had to. They sat in little rows, each face more bored then the next. All waiting for his time to be over and for their time to leave.
"H-hello, my name is Benjamin. You can call me Ben." They responded in the usual manner, a bored unapologetic 'hello, Ben.'
He was sweating bullets as he looked around for face e would never know and never want to. He just wants to escape but he if does, there is nothing for him.
"I am here because I have a problem." He digs in his pocket and pulls out an old rusted key. Victorian style and never seemingly to have been used. He let's out another sigh and picks up where he left off.
"This is holds my problem behind a door. A locked door obviously. But not really because, even though it's locked and I've never opened it, my wife has seen what's behind the door. My kids too." He shudders and takes a deep ragged breath. He let out a slow, shallow collected one. He eyes opened and the crowd looked less bored and more confused. He holds it higher and starts to explain.
"My father gave me this key when I was seven. He told me it went to the door in the attic, a place I was never allowed to go unless I was with him or one of his friends. We visited that room, in the beginning, three times a week. As I got older, it became five, and with his friends. Eventually it became daily, sometimes three or four times. With different people. I've never really recovered from this. For it stopped all together when I left home, and when my mother died."
If he didn't have their interest before, he certainly had it now.
He held the key as high as he could. He took a deep breath and let it drop.
"My problem was letting the very idea of the key control my life. I lost all contact with my dad, his friends and anything that reminded me of my life; except for the key. The key, even though it had such a hated memory I could not let it go because without it I would break and he would win."
When it hit the ground it made an empty hollow sound.
"I do not want to repeat the cycle. My name is Benjamin-" His voice gaining more confidence, "-and I am happily married with two children. I am sick and need help. Please help me." He stepped back and the crowd applauded, he gave a small smile and stepped of the stage. The therapist waited for him, she gave him a nod.
"Are you ready to start?" He looked at her.
"Yes." He never looked back, and did not go get the key. For even though it trapped him; it also freed him.