Writing Challenge – Prompt#1: “I miss being a child…”
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“I miss being a child,” blood spattered to his face as his vocal chords vibrated from his throat, “not a worry in the world.”
He whimpered when a needle slid under his middle finger nail. He could see his other two nails pristinely placed on the tray to her right, “don’t you?”
The needle didn’t move, taunting him, reminding him how few hours ago he thought he would get lucky with this gorgeous woman, just to find out she was sent to him, he hoped. He flinched when a soft hand gently patted his cheek, returning him to the present. “Do you miss being a child?”
He missed being safely tucked in his childhood bedroom after a long day of learning and playing out in his family’s big garden. He missed the gentle touch of his mother whenever he got hurt; he even missed his father attempting to teach him how to defend himself because the family work line wasn’t safe.
The cold, metallic, heavy feeling sliding up his thumb reminded him she had asked a question. He nodded, hurriedly, eyes bouncing between his nail and the holder. Her emerald eyes peering into him from her crouched position, “What do you miss most?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but his metacarpal bone crunching interrupted him, “I’m sure you miss knowing mommy or daddy could get you out of trouble.”
She continued, bone crushed, needle awkwardly protruding at an odd angle; “Mister Lambert, allow me to remind you that this painful experience can be avoided if you simply cooperate.” She wiped his face from the blood that spattered from the cuts adorning his biceps, “Where is your father?”
He, Lambert, frowned. He hasn’t seen his father since he left the mainland two years ago. Two years of adapting to living on his own, two years of balancing social and school life. Two years of attempting to prove to his family that he didn’t need them. Turns out, I do need them.
“I don’t know, I hav-” he repeated, she sighed, moving away from him towards the tray, searching, “no, really! I haven’t seen him in over two years! You can ask anyone!”
“Anyone has informed me you had dinner with him two nights ago,” she responded, comparing two-sized cleavers. His panic increased when she opted for a bone saw. “I’ll ask one more time, Mr. Lambert.”
“He is not my father,” Lambert blurted out, “at least not to my knowledge. He is my uncle from my mother’s side.”
Her emerald eyes turned away from the saw to him, “Your mother doesn’t have any siblings. What is his name?”
No siblings? I grew up with him visiting most holidays, bringing joy into the cold walls of our family mansion. “Thomas Willis”
Bone saw temporarily forgotten, she leaned against the table. “Thomas Willis”
Lambert nods, praying that the information was more than enough to escape from this room. Hope bloomed when no move to continue was made until she started laughing. “Jordan Lambert, you don’t know much about your family, do you?”
Jordan frowned. He knew his family came from money, and he knew his family’s work wasn’t safe, but nothing to worry about. “You should ask Hayden Lambert who Thomas Willis is.”
“I told you, he is my uncle,” Jordan responded. She tilted her head at his small defiance, turned, and picked up a syringe before walking back to him. Her soft blonde hair tickled his neck as she bent down.
“Find the truth, Jordan Lambert,” she said, the needle of the syringe pressing against his neck, “and let our next meeting be in pleasant terms.”
“Wha-” the needle went through.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “for cooperating.”
His last view was her emerald eyes, softly smiling as he finally succumbed to sleep.
The END.
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