ROUGH DRAFT

i recently started writing. ya know, actually writing like a story or something. kinda like a book i guess. i had wanted to wait a little bit longer til i had more finished, but i would like some feedback now. it is still just a rough draft but i think it is enough for people to get the (general) idea. so far i have no title for it but i kinda like "primal lucidity." this is the introduction; let me know what you think.

1

The sky was clear and dark as Charlie opened his eyes. He had been unconscious for hours and it took him a few seconds to focus his eyes on the brilliant stellar display above him. As soon as he did, however, he could also see the thick leaves of the towering trees moving past him. There was only a sliver of sky visible directly above him. It was night time, though he had no idea what time it actually was, or where he was for that matter. He hadn’t noticed immediately but his ears were ringing. Softly at first, but the pitch gradually grew louder and louder, until the sound was so overpowering Charlie thought his ear drums might burst. They never did.

As the pitch started to dim, Charlie felt a dull pain on the back of his head. He tried to lift his head to relieve the pain but found that he was bound so tightly to the make shift stretcher that he could only lift it an inch or two. His head was wet with blood and he felt his hair start to tug towards their place of rest. He slowly lowered his now throbbing head back to the moist sticks bound together as tightly as he was to them. In the distance he could hear the thumping of drums. He blacked out again.

Suddenly, Charlie awoke to find himself surrounded by painted faces. Elaborate designs of the most vibrant reds and greens. All the paintings were unique. Only one thing was common among the hooting faces--their eyes. Each eye had been carefully sewn shut with black thread so thick that only 3 stitchings were required to hold them. The drums were now as deafening as the ringing in his ears had been. Panicked, Charlie screamed as he felt the dozens of hands upon him. He was still on the stretcher, only now he was tightly wrapped in a coarse blanket of some animal foreign to him. The blanket’s itch was maddening and Charlie squirmed helplessly as they carried him up a steep hill.

The hill was inclined enough for him to see the multitude of painted eye-less faces. Thousands of them had come to the festivities. Somehow, they all knew exactly where Charlie was. The top of the hill had been cleared of any brush. Centered perfectly in a stone circle was a 4-foot tall granite slab about the length and width of a man. Charlie violently turned his head left and right to better see his surroundings. His heart raced and his chest began to ache.

All at once, the drums and hooting of the thousands surrounding him stopped. A man dressed in rich orange robes approached him. He was the only person Charlie could see that was fully clothed head to foot. The man was easily the oldest person present by a good 30 years and the only one whose eyes were open, although his eye lids had puffy scars from being sewn shut years prior. His face was painted differently from the others as well. A simpler pattern of orange, yellow and white.

“Their chief,” thought Charlie.

The old man shouted something in a language that Charlie didn’t understand. The multitude responded with uproarious noises and the drums rang out in a hundred different rhythms at once. The man barked out orders to Charlie’s carriers and they quickly placed him on the stone slab which he now understood to be an altar.

“They are going to kill me!” he shouted. “Get your hands off…”

His threat was cut short as the dozens of hands reappeared and covered his face and chest. Only his eyes were left uncovered by the heavy hands. Charlie began to sob, his body lurching forward as far as the ropes would let him. The old man pushed some of the others aside and put his face about an inch from Charlie’s and stared at him intensely for about ten seconds. Charlie tried to bite the old man’s nose, but the old man was more agile than he appeared and stood upright and slapped Charlie. Not with the intent to harm him, however. It was to establish control over Charlie. But, of course, Charlie had no intention of submitting to the old man. Charlie dug deep from the back of his throat and spat on the old man’s face.

The old man simply wiped the spittle from below his wrinkled eye, smearing orange paint across his yellow cheek. He then put his hand over Charlie’s mouth, leaned down to his ear and whispered some gibberish in a low calm voice. Charlie was confused but he wasn’t about to let the man trick him into confidence by a simple whisper. Charlie bit the old man’s hand as hard as he could. The man pulled his bleeding fingers away without so much as a second glance towards Charlie.

The old man stood straight, raised his arms and with a deep booming voice sang out clean and clear over the thousands of riotous pagans. His melody was hypnotic and Charlie found himself becoming mildly sedated from the unexpected soothing tone. At once, his chest stopped thumping, the pain in his head was gone and even the noise of the multitude faded away. Amid all the chaos of his surroundings, everything seemed to be in its proper place. Even his fear began to subside and for a fraction of a second Charlie thought the old man was on his side.

The old man approached Charlie again and whispered the same gibberish as before only this time Charlie understood its meaning. “Calm, Great One.“ He did not resist. But he did not quite understand, either.

Charlie did not have much time to dwell on the old man’s words. The old man quickly backed away and the dozens of hands returned. So did Charlie’s pain, panic and fear. One of the eye-less faces hurriedly painted Charlie’s face bright blue. There was no time for an intricate pattern--solid blue would have to do. His heart began to race faster as another eye-less face ran up to the alter bearing a large insect. It was about the size of a hand and had more legs than Charlie had time to count. The bug was restless yet did not fight its master. The eye-less face shoved the insect inside Charlie’s mouth and forced it shut. Charlie thrashed about as mad as ever, sweat pouring out of his wrappings. The insect forced its way down Charlie’s throat.

Immediately, he began to feel light headed and the color of the eye-less faces began to blur. He felt the insect wriggling in his stomach, clawing at him as if it no longer approved of its host. With each scrape Charlie's eyes lost focus a little more. The eye-less faces now blurred together completely and all he could see was a mesh of bright colors swirling in patterns as intricate as the original paintings. They let go of his mouth and Charlie felt three sharp stings in each eye lid. He tried to open them in spite of the tearing pain. But the thread was too strong. The colors continued to mix on the back of his lids until all was glowing bronze.

Charlie let out a forceful scream with what was left of his might and will.

“You Bastards!”

Charlie felt a light rocking sensation and he heard a familiar voice. He couldn't make it out at first. He listened more intently now. It was his sister Nikki.

“She is just a child! If you bastards touch her…”

SLAP!

Charlie opened his eyes and saw Nikki looking frightfully at him. He was in his bed drenched in sweat. Nikki quickly withdrew to the other side of the room.

“You scared me. Who were you screaming at?” Nikki’s face was wet with tears. She had never seen Charlie like this and her 7 year old mind didn’t know how to accept it.

“No one. Don’t worry about it.” He rubbed his eyes carefully. The night terror’s were getting worse and more frequent. They were usually of the same event. The nit picky details would sometimes change: the colors on the faces, the trees, the altar, the sounds and smells. But his interaction with the old man was always the same, as was his encounter with the insect. He didn’t understand it himself and he certainly didn’t want her to be bothered by the graphic content of his dreams.

“Mom said to tell you breakfast is ready. I don’t think she heard you. I won’t tell her if you don’t want me to.”

“OK, thanks. I’ll be down in a bit. I need to shower first.”

Her trust in Charlie was something that had always been a source of comfort for him. This was especially true after their older brother’s attempted suicide. Jerry was one year older than Charlie and suffered from a variety of mental disorders which limited his abilities in school and social interactions. Between the schizophrenia and assortment of learning disorders Jerry was doing well to pass his classes and not be held back.

Outwardly, he admired Charlie’s successes in things that he could only imagine participating in. But inwardly, he had no place to hide his jealousy. Jerry had always wanted to wrestle, for example, but didn’t have the time to dedicate to the sport. He was too busy with his schedule of tutors and therapists. Charlie, on the other hand, excelled in wrestling and was poised to be the team captain next year as a junior--a feat seldom accomplished at his high school. Charlie was, at least in Jerry’s eyes, the family favorite.