The kid concentrated on the box.

He'd learned that if he concentrated real hard, the sounds of violence faded.

The box was a great invention. He could cope when he was there. He could control the box. He loved the peace it held. He could almost vanish into it completely now, his hard work was paying off. Soon the box would swallow him completely and he'd be at peace. He silently thanked the Lord for the day he discovered it. Lying on the bed with his knees tucked up into his chest, facing the wall, the box really created itself. That square foot of space between wall and face, knee and headboard, bed and....... well, he'd had to build the sixth side of the box in his head. He wished he'd got a bunk bed so that he had a barrier above him as well, but maybe that would make the box too big to work? Anyway, he never had friends over, so a bunk bed was useless.

When the drinking and arguments started, he'd slip quietly upstairs and stare into the box. He's let the peace it contained envelop him. That way, he wouldn't hear the screams, the breaking of furniture, the smash of bottles. He wouldn't hear the ominous silence or the creak of the wooden staircase that meant he was next.

His thoughts were shattered by a woman's voice, his Mom, screaming out his name in terror. "See, that's what happens when you lose concentration!” he silently told himself. He pulled his knees up tighter into his chest and refocused on the dust particles joyously dancing in the box. He breathed out slowly and watched their stately waltz turn into a polka as his lungs stirred the dance floor a little. He concentrated on his breathing for a long time, watching the dancers slowly join and separate, seeking new partners, new experiences. He envied them their freedom.

His side began to hurt again. How long had he lain like this now? It didn't matter really; the position demanded a little pain but the freedom was worth the price. He shifted slightly, just to change the level of pain he had. It eased a little; but it wasn't important. What was important was that he knew he could control it. Control was important; lose control and you lose everything. Control brought freedom. Pain brought control.

He'd been neglecting the box for over a minute now, thinking about pain. He'd really have to get out of that habit. The box demanded full attention all the time. You bought its rewards with worship and it was a jealous god.

The noise was only a dull echo now. It was like listening underwater. The box almost had him. Sleep would come soon. He'd try to fend it off as long as he could, but he knew it was hovering just out of sight, waiting patiently..............

............................................................................................

"So how long's he been like that?” asked the new orderly.

"Ever since they brought him in. He doesn't move. Just lays there with his back to the door. Difficult to tell whether he's awake or asleep most times".

"How do you fix his bed-sores then"?

"We have to sedate him for that. He'll accept you doing anything else and I don't think he even notices the feeding tube. You wouldn't believe how strong he was at first. He's getting weaker of course, but he fights like a cornered tiger even now when you try to move him".

"Poor kid. And you say the parents were drunks?"

"And violent. They'd beat on each other and then beat on him. Long history".

"Until he snapped".

"I suppose you hit the point where you either fight back or die".

"I can understand stabbing his Pa; nice and quick, no chance of him fighting back".

"That's the way I'd have done it. Probably too drunk to even notice".

"But burning his Ma? Why? It must have taken a long time to die".

"The mind-readers reckon he loved her too much to kill her himself. So he let the booze do it. You do know it was booze he poured over her before he lit the match, don't you?"

"Can you imaging anybody doing that. How far would you have to be pushed?"

"He nearly died himself. Cops reckon he just threw the match and went to bed. Must have heard her screams for hours, just lying there. If it'd really taken hold, the whole house would've gone up".

"Still, at least he's getting some peace now. This is the quietest place I've ever been in. It's not a lot, but at least we can give him that much".

They closed the viewing hatch in the cell door and walked quietly away. Behind them, the kid twitched slightly and gasped as his mother's voice screamed for mercy silently around the sound-resistant room.

Copyright (c) Conway Billington

• Topic: Creative Writings

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