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6 years ago
He should have re-grouted the tiles - 1300 word story for Prelim Extension 1 English
Golden polished floorboards quiver under the heavy footfalls of James as he sprints down the hallway and into the bathroom. It was fortunate that he was familiar with the layout of the house, lest his swift escape be hampered. Upon finding his desired haven, the door slammed and lock bolted, James collapsed panting to the ground, embracing the cool tile faces. His arms buzzed as of possessed by ravished wasps, and he struggled to calm the hive enough for his trembling fingers to reach into the womb of his jacket, to his coveted child hidden within. Clumsily he drew out a seed, a pinecone. This wasn't just any pinecone, it was his pinecone. The compartments were organised neatly by such intelligent design, but they had all been pried open by those buzzing fingers.. Some had been worn smooth, some had been stuffed with treasures and gifts and trinkets and oh-so-important things. These very important things were kept safe in the pinecone, the neatly spaced, no spot to waste pinecone, every item essential and necessary. Thank goodness it was safe. James' eyes closed just for a second as he sat on the tiles, pinecone pressed to racing heart, lungs rattling and creaking. Opening his eyes slightly, he peered through his sparse and wilting eyelashes to focus on the bluish tint of his spindly legs. A wonder they had carried him so far, he mused. Dare he attempt to stand on them? No, it wasn't worth the risk. Better to sit and save his strength. He would need it if she had followed him.
As his bare feet embraced the white tiles, James amused himself by focusing and unfocusing on his outstretched toes. A sickly sulfur tint to his talonous toenails reflected the bathroom lights merrily, winking at him in their jolly way. If he stretched as far as he could, the talons clicked satisfyingly on the tiles. Closing his eyes and listening attentively, like a schoolboy to his teacher, James followed the ricocheting echo around the tiled prison. "Click, click, click, click", said the talons to the tiles. "Click, click, click" replied the mirrors and walls. A very profound discussion indeed. James, feeling left out of the argument, added his own opinion, "Click." he said aloud, nodding at his toes. "Click click click James, she's coming!" Clicked the toes.
"She's coming! She's coming!" The mirror and walls echoed dutifully. James thought upon this.
"How long do I have?" He asked the toes, to no reply. What could he do? She was coming for him, and she was coming for his pinecone. She was going to take it, and take it, and smash it and smash it and break it into a million pieces of broken pinecone. Images of the pathetically limp, bloody and battered body of his baby, his pinecone, flashed violently across his innocent eyes.
James' blood began to boil at the thought of this. He sat quietly, stewing in the delicious warmth of hatred. He enjoyed the feeling, enjoyed the warmth running swiftly down his sides, triggering the hairs on his arms to spring to attention, soldiers ready for battle.
James sat watching the hate, until it reached the tips of his fingers, who knew exactly what to do. Take the treasures! She was after the treasures, not the pinecone! The fingers zipped to the first compartment of Pinecone, shakily, carefully don't hurt Pinecone be careful lifting out the treasure don't hurt her. Treasures cradled in the fingers, the fingers buzzing again the wasps are back they’re back his beautiful treasures. A myriad of colours, shapes, sizes, some alone, some in flocks, the treasures lounged in the buzzing fingers, basking in James’ adoring gaze. One of the treasures, vaguely round, a vivid green almost exactly like the colour of the glove that James had once left on a train, opened it’s eyes. “Blink!” It blinked. James blinked back, stuffed the treasure in his mouth and bit down. “Crack!” It cracked sadly.
“Sorry!” whispered James through green stained teeth. He was sorry that he had to hide the treasures, but if he didn’t, she would get them. She would get them and she would get them and he would not let her get them, he would save them. He looked at the treasures in his hand. His eyes ran over the creases in his palm, encrusted with dirt, which made little roads and streets in the city on his skin, the treasures lived there, this was where they belong, with him. They were James’ treasures, and they belonged with James. Green treasures and white ones and orange ones and blue ones and yellow ones and red ones and black ones and purple ones and grey ones and pink ones and brown ones, all blinking their eyes at him. Too many eyes. One by one, the treasures stretched out their tiny legs and trotted out of James’ palm, following the road of dirt embedded deep into his skin. The parade of miniscule characters chattered gaily as they climbed up James’ arm, over his shoulder, up his neck and into his welcoming mouth. One by one they traipsed in to meet the crunch crunch crunch of his teeth, giggling as they slid over his tongue and down his throat. At the end of the line a particularly fat treasure dawdled slightly, held back by its stubby little legs. James opened his mouth slightly wider to allow the little guy in, when the door suddenly let out a terrible noise. The huge crash made James jump, and the treasure was dislodged from his body and fell shrieking to the ground. She was here. She was banging on the door ferociously, she could smell his blood she could smell it she knew he was in here. James picked up the tiny treasure and hid it behind his back, where it curled into a ball and trembled on the ground. On the tiles. The white, white tiles, with the grout in between. The dirty, stained grey-brown of the grout, which dulled the whole room to a dirty glistening cage. The grout ran in lines up and down, up and down and side to side and side to BANG! Again on the door. The noise must have startled the door too, as James watched it jump forward to the closest horizontal line of grout. The entire wall followed the door in a celebratory Mexican wave of excitement. This may have been enjoyable for the wall, but not for James. He had one less tile’s worth of room to figure BANG! There goes the door again. Jumping and frolicking and leaping and sprinting and running, when James was stuck on the tiles. The tiles didn’t control the door, no they didn’t. The tiles trapped James though, the dirty dirty lines cutting him off from any possibility of escape. How could he get over the black hole of filth and muck that kept the gleaming white tiles such worlds apart? He couldn’t, that was BANG. The room was much smaller now, there was not much room there was not much room there was not much BANG his toes were against the door now the talons scream click click click but the door doesn’t listen, the door just screams BANG and she’s closer, and James’ knees are bent and the talons are pushed against the tiles and BANG and his knees are up against his chest and BANG and she’s closer and she’s right there and the door isn’t brave enough and James isn’t brave enough and the treasure isn’t BANG and he has to stand now, there’s no room on the floor and BANG and he can’t even stretch out his arms, he’s sitting in the bathroom sink and BANG BANG his face is pressed against the glass, he’s trapped he’s trapped by the tiles they’re so dirty so dirty just like him I’m sorry mother I should have re-grouted the tiles.
