Friday, December 14, 2012

CWA: A Mysterious Boy



You have no idea what has been going on with the tour stops lately. You went for a walk in the lowest decks, hoping it would do you some good in deciding what you were going to do with your choices. You had to make a decision. You meandered here and there, not paying too close attention to where the snake like passages were leading you. Then you heard a boy's voice calling your name. You looked up wondering who could be down here. Wasn't this section of the ship off limits? And where exactly were you to begin with? You didnt' recognize any of these rooms from the map of the ship. You wonder what else you don't know. 

THUMP! 

The metal door behind you closes on its own. The lights go out. You're left alone, in the dark, where no one would ever find you. You don't know how long it has been since you had begun your walk but if you were gone too long Tasha might suspect something. If she doesn't already. 

You instantly go into survival mode. Lucky for you, you have excellent night vision. You searched the small room, trying to push back your claustrophobia, looking for a way out. Just when you had given up all hope, the boy calls out your name again. How does he know your rank, service number and name? 

"Who are you," you demanded. 

"It doesn't matter who I am. What matters is who you are. Follow me," the boy answers back. 

You roll your eyes. This ship had more secrets than the skeletons in your family's closet. 

Against your better judgement, you comply with the boys wishes. His voice leads you to a secret passageway small enough for a child to pass through. You managed to crouch through the enclosure. It seems like an eternity before you emerged into a smaller, dimly lit room. It almost reminded you of something you would see in an Indiana Jones movie. A desk filled with old maps, a compass, a feather pen and other things sat along the back end of the wall. There in the middle of the room stands your mysterious boy. 

"Hi," the boy greeted you. 

"Hi," you answer not sure if he's a friend or foe. It was best to stay on your guard. 

The boy goes to the desk, picks up a journal then hands it to you. You stare at the worn journal then back to the boy. 

"Take it," the ten year old boy urges you. 

"Thank you," you reply taking the journal. You thumb through the old pages carefully then lift your gaze to meet his. 

"You can use this room for your stuff. Tasha doesn't know the room is here. There are alot of secrets down here that you might like to investigate too. There's a map on the desk that's older than the one Tasha gave you."

"Thank you. Who are you?"

Just as you end your question the boy disappears. You close the journal, marking your place with your finger and look around. Where did that boy go?


Journal: Jan 1, 1960-1963 | "Amusing Recollections"
by: woodlywonderworks @http://www.flickr.com/photos/wwworks/5483563950/

Beginnings
August 11, 1985
I love to read science fiction, and my favorite book right now is My Book of Bible Stories. The reason why it’s my favorite book is because it contains the story of Noah and the Ark. I love the idea of it raining for 40 days and 40 nights, and God had Noah, his family and the animals in the ark during that time. I wonder what life was like inside the ark. My counselor wanted me to write what I did starting today in a notebook to better my writing skills, because I was behind verbolly in school, and that this would improve my physical and mental health. I’m glad she didn’t tell my parents that I am to do this. There is no privacy in this house. Nothing is to embarrass my mother. Later on today, my father, uncle and I were playing football with some other kids in the neighborhood until the street lights came on. It was so much fun!

August 12, 1985
This is the day that Uncle Woody put his hands and parts of his body in and on the lower parts of my body. I was reading my Bible book, minding my own business, when this happened. At first, I didn’t think anything of it. In fact, I thought it was natural; so I let him proceed for about fifteen minutes. He was enjoying it more than I was. Uncle Woody turned twenty-seven yesterday. Why is he doing this to me? I wonder, but I don’t say anything, because he’s good at punching me like I’m his punching bag. I don’t know if it is a means to toughen me up. If anything, it made me more afraid. I still hate him. My mother tells me to go over to his house when I get out of school, but my sister stays home with my Mom. It’s not fair that I have to go over to my Uncle’s, since my sister and I are only a year apart when I really hate him, but I know not to get smart with my mother.

Whippings & Wounds
August 15, 1985
My mother came to me later that morning and said to go over to Uncle Woody’s house. I can imagine she saw a look of disgust on my face, and she said to not come back ‘till dinner time. Dinnertime?!! She must be crazy! This time my Uncle did something to me. Normally, when I go to his house, he lets me drink what I want. As soon as I went into his house, I went immediately towards the refrigerator. But when I grabbed a soda, he wants me to drink out of this cup, and then proceeds to pull my pants down and rape me. I was out of the house for about four hours, because I left an hour later to go home for dinner. I didn’t say a word, and my mother asked me if I took a nap. I said yes and didn’t say anything else. It was a struggle trying to take a bath without falling asleep, but I didn’t want to give my mother a chance to question my mood. I don’t understand her. My Uncle lies to my mother, and she accepts it. When I lie, she spanks me with that wide belt. When it comes to believing a story, she always believes Uncle Woody – and I know in my heart, he’s lying. I still hate him!

August 18, 1985
As usual, I’m back at Uncle Woody’s house. He threatened me with a knife to take off my clothes. I screamed for him not to hurt me, but he cuts me around my ankle. He laughed while he said, “You can’t run. I’ve got your mom wrapped around my finger. She will never believe you. Now get over here, and take your clothes off; so I can get my piece.” It’s hard for me to escape with knife wounds on my lower legs and ankles. Uncle Woody took me to the hospital and said to my mother that I was playing with knives. When my mother and I got in the car, she yelled at me, cursing all the while. “Why were you playing with knives? Didn’t I tell you not to play with knives?” I said, “Uncle Woody stabbed me in my legs.” My mother said, “I spoke with him just a moment ago; you were playing with knives.” Why did I even say anything? She was going to believe whatever she wanted to hear. I gained enough courage to tell her so, and fired back, “You’re going to believe him, right?” She quickly responded, “Of course I am, and get prepared for another whipping. I told you about your lying; yep, I am going to beat the hell out of you.” Here I’m getting whipped for not submitting to Uncle Woody’s demands; why am I even here?

I try so hard not to cry in the car, because I know that Viola is looking for another reason to whip me. My sister, Stephanie just sits quietly, trying so hard not to laugh at me. She smirks, but I ignore her. I got my beating once I got home. So, not only do I have bandages on my ankles, I have marks from the belt after the beating by my mother. I’m starting to hate her! It’s not fair being whipped by my uncle and my parents in the same day!






Who is Tremayne Moore?

Tremayne Moore, founder of Mayntre Manuscripts, LLC, a publishing company with a vision of writing to write the broken soul. Tremayne is committed to educate youth, parents, pastors, and community members concerning child sexual abuse/teenage suicide through social media and community involvement. He is a presenter of NAMI Support Hope in Tallahassee, FL and a member of the RAINN Speakers Bureau.

Tremayne is an accountant, psalmist, and spoken-word motivational speaker. Academically, he holds a Bachelor of Science Degree in Accounting from FAMU and a Bachelor of Science Degree in Management Information Systems from FSU.

Tremayne Moore, author of the inspirational poetry series “You Can Take It: Volumes 1-3” and the novella “Deaf, Dumb, Blind & Stupid: Michael Anderson’s Fight For Life.” Deaf, Dumb, Blind & Stupid is a novella that addresses child physical/sexual abuse, teenage suicide and how it affects the faith community and secular community.

He is working on his next project addressing domestic violence due out in August 2013.


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