The Pipes - A short story (critique appreciated)

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Dreamspinner
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The Pipes - A short story (critique appreciated)

Post by Dreamspinner »

Here's a short story of mine. Feel free to comment - especially if you have a title idea!

I wake slowly, blearily. 5:00. I'm on time. Rising, I hear the squeaks of the filthrats and scurry (acting ratlike!) to the intersection of our pipes. Pulling on my faded pyjamas, I'm reminded painfully of my old life. Mama, soft, caring, making spaghetti and teaching me origami, holding me tight. Father, his voice booming, his face as gentle as a lamb's, throwing me up in the air, hearing me shriek with laughter. I shiver as the ghosts of my memory brush past me, filling the pipe with echoes of shadowy half-dreams. Blinking fiercely, I hurry along the pipe. Mama whispers gently 'Leo. . . ' My nickname, Lion. "Go away!" I howl to my memory's cruel apparations. I bolt. Run rabbit run. Defying my memories. Shoving down my pain into a locked chest far away. . .

It could have been so different. . . .

I skid to a halt in the middle of the pipe. This isn't right. A puddle of filthy water chews hungrily at my clammy feet. Where am I? 'Lost, lost,' my mind mocks me. 'Lost, never coming out again!' I'm scared now, my hairs standing on end like an animal. If they find me here. . . I slap my face, hard. I have no idea where I am. Pipe 1401R? Pipe X6092? Or one of the un-named pipes, leading Outside? I feel a surge of rising terror inside me. Outside. . . . I can't go Outside! Eyes wide, sucking in air with great gasping gulps, I spin around, searching for a familiar pipe. If I'm caught here I will surely be beaten, or worse. . . .

One thing's for sure. I have to leave. Glancing around once more, I stumble into a left-hand branch, then stop, stunned.

Daylight. . . I-I can see it! A golden tongue, slipping through the cracks in my armour, filling my eyes and ears and nose and mouth with beauty, love, freedom. Walking transfixed, I edge closer to the pipe mouth. A snicketfly sinks his tiny fangs into my ear, but I don't notice. My mind is gambolling on golden fields, released from the leash that has bound me for so long! Tears of agony, of despair, dribble down my face, tears I have locked away for years. The dams are bursting! My walls of stone are cracking, falling into rubble. But even as I rejoice, my heart shrieks - a dreadful, drawn-out shriek of pure agony.

There are children. Playing, giggling, dancing through the long grass that gnaws on the pipe's outer walls. Their papas and mamas are there too, smiling and holding and loving them! I stand there, frozen, unable to breathe, my heart dying. I weep there, falling to my knees.The world spins and shakes around me, mocking me. And I was there, weeping, when they found me. And the children were playing on, their lives a breeze, and they found me. They took me away from the children. I ws screaming inside, screaming but no-one could hear! And then
silence

But the children still play
They're waiting for me. . .

* * * *

They beat me. They left me here. Now there's a priest. I used to remember his name. I can't now. I just remember the children and it hurts! but the children were there and they're coming soon, they promised! They promised!

I woke trembling. The priest is still here, red-eyed and very quiet. He's muttering a prayer. He used to know me, the child who's lying here, bleeding and bruised and broken. Nobody knows me now. Not even myself.

The priest's unhappy and I comfort him. My eyes are bright now, reflecting the children's faces. They're calling to me. "I have to go," I say. I'm smiling. "Don't worry. I'm going to play with the children!"

They're smiling at me, happy to see me. They take my hands and they lead me away and the priest is crying but I am happy. I am playing with the children.
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