Rape is such an ugly thing. A man or woman steals something and leaves something more damaging in its place. The trauma is life changing and at best, hard to control. Ryan wouldn’t wish that on anyone, except maybe a person who had done it to someone.
Ryan was raped. Uncle John had raped him and had plans to continue to rape Ryan, but Ryan was strong enough to stay alive. He sought refuge in his artwork; it was the only reason he wanted to be alive. When that was taken away from him, he wanted to die.
He stared at his mural in the dark. He remembered every detail that plagued that wall. He imagined the mushrooms crying, hoping that Ryan would help them. “Ryan,” another mushroom said as she held onto the bars of her cage.
“I’m going to die here?” she asked.
“Yes,” Ryan said. He had explained in detail the scene that would take place upstairs.
Ryan had noticed a minuscule beam of light. It came from the room above. Must be the kitchen, Ryan thought to himself. The light disappeared and Ryan had realized it must be nighttime.
There were no clocks below the house. Many times it felt like time refused to be there. It was a place where even time didn’t want to exist.
Sam was awake. She rocked in her cot, while she held her knees to her chest. She was lost in thought, thinking of her friends and family. She wondered if Tommy Rosen would still want to date her. She wanted Tommy to love her and maybe one day marry her. They could have two, no three babies and two dogs. Her mother danced in her head as she twirled in the kitchen with her apron on, she missed waking up to the smell of bacon. The toast that awaited her at her plate would push the smell of butter into her nostrils and when she opened her eyes, she expected
Ryan drew with his mind and painted with his thoughts. Rainbows, grass and life he whispered to himself thinking of the butterflies that flew around the old tree and over the mushrooms. One stopped on a mushroom and flapped its wings as if it were staring back at Ryan.
Sam continued to daydream. Now she was thinking about having a baby. Perhaps Tommy would want at least one boy, she thought but the thought escaped her suddenly. “What if I’m already pregnant?”
“You’ll die before you find out.”
“Fuck you, Ryan.
“Fuck you and your fucking face. You know you are just as responsible,” she screamed.
The light upstairs shined through the tiny hole and moments, seven clicks later, Uncle John appeared at the door.
“What’s going on?”
The light remained off as Uncle John continued to flick the switch. He leaned back into the other room and kept trying the switch. He disappeared after several tries.
Ryan grew scared. Uncle John grew frustrated and when he was frustrated he would take it out on one of his captives. Please not me, Ryan thought.
He returned with a flashlight and stomped down the steps. “What the hell is going on down here?” he asked.
“I missed you,” Sam said. “I . . . Want you inside me.”
Ryan was shocked and confused. It was a weird sensation that made his face twitch. Sam was taken upstairs and, unlike before, she didn’t return.
Next: Piece 10
If you are not up to speed with Trestle Press’s issues over the last week. Please visit my deviantArt journal here.
Many of the vocal authors made a stand last week. They decided that even though they had contracts with their pieces and project’s they wanted nothing to do with a company that steals art. When I first discovered the art theft, I was then worried about my art. Would that get stolen too?
Here’s a list of the authors who have stated they are leaving along with their corresponding Blog that states it. If I missed any, please let me know and I’ll add it to the list.
The Sinking Ship
Trestle Press had also released a statement that they later had pulled. It can be found here. They also plan on continuing their radio show, like nothing ever happened. I wish I could get on that radio show. 🙂
Here’s the list of people who have posted that they are staying, regardless of proof. Most of them seem to only stay stating that they signed a contract and will stick to it and calling others unprofessional for doing otherwise.
We strive. We learn and move on. In many cases Trestle Press was just hurting writers with bad editing and stolen covers. They would then take a larger percentage of the profits just to “Advertise”. I’m sure many of the writer’s work speaks for itself like Nigel Bird and Paul D. Brazill’s and all the others. So buy their books.
Don’t buy them because you feel bad, buy them because you want good literature. Buy them because you can and you know that all their profit goes to them, not a man who steals and lies. Buy from them to keep literature alive and because they are honestly good people who just want people to be happy. They write, because you like to read; and you read because of people like them.
So buy a short story from an indie writer or just drop them a comment, because reading your comments is like fuel. It’s fuel that we pour into our pencils and laptops and then we do that little waltz with our fingers. In the end, that dance is for you.