Wednesday, November 14, 2007

15307 WORDS

Stick remembered his grandmother helping him into the car and the way the air felt against his thighs and calves. It was quite cold out and he was wearing a thin dress and a fluffy sweater, neither did much to keep him comfortable.

Stick leaned his head against the car’s window as it took off towards the evening’s festivity. He remembered seeing his grandmother staring at him through the window. She had never seemed more proud of him than at that moment.

The car left the short drive and headed straight underground. Stick began to feel a great difficulty in keeping his eyes opened and drifted off several times before he finally arrived at his destination: an elegant white home near a creek.

An attendant helped Stick out of the vehicle and ushered him into the main hall of the elegant home. Their were several people in attendance, all of them dressed quite well, all of them drinking or smoking.

They all stopped when Stick made his entrance and there was a light round of applause. He smiled vaguely, hoping that he could get home before long. He couldn’t stop thinking about his grandmother. She had made him feel quite uncomfortable, and the thing she had said about helping his mother out had sounded very ominous.

Stick remembered shaking the hands of some eager older men but was already beginning to feel blurry. Before he knew it he was fast asleep and found himself back in his bedroom the next morning.

“This will be our little secret,” his grandmother said as she came into the bedroom and opened the curtains.

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