Hope And Regret

The familiar scent of bleach fills my nostrils as the simulation begins to take it’s hold; the ringing echoes take
shape into proper sounds. I’m back, though I never really left.
It’s different to my sleep visits, I can see it clearly, smell it and hear it but the key difference is that I can’t feel
it, it doesn’t happen to me the way it does when I’m sleeping, I’m a visitor, an observer.
I kid myself that it’s immersion therapy, facing my fears, becoming stronger in trauma and all that other
bollocks. Really, it’s just a good way to torture myself.
I just watch as the boy washes the filth from his hands. He’s scrubbing now, really going for it with bleach and
scouring pad. I wish I could tell him that soap works just as well. He won’t feel clean anyway. I move in for a
closer look, as I squat down next to him, he looks me dead in the eye. I feel a cold grip me all over, his
anguished eyes pierce me. I shake it off I know he can’t see me, he can’t I’m just a visitor.
I thought of it as nothing more than a coincidence that he looked my way.

That was until he started sobbing. A stifled cry of anguish and fear.

I fell back from him and looked around, surely it was too early for the boys to be in the room.

Yet the boy’s eyes are locked on me.

“Can you see me?” I ask the child, unable to force any other words out
.
“Can you help me?” he replies in a cracked whisper

I crouch down beside the boy and place a hand upon his shoulder.
Even as my hand rested squarely on his shoulder, I could not even comprehend that it had done so, and so I
merely stared at it in disbelief, for far too long.
He’s still staring at me, crying silently.

Turning towards the door I could see the crude barricade he had built in front of it. kitchen chairs loosely
piled. I know what’s waiting behind them.

I should just leave the simulation, put it down to system error and forget about it but I can’t, I’ve watched it
over and over torturing myself with what ifs and now I might just have one.

I turn back to him; he’s slumped on the floor. He’s barely conscious but I can still see fear in his eyes.

“Don’t worry mate it’s going to be alright” I say in the most reassuring tone I can must, it’s far from alright,
I’ve loaded in too late, they’ll be through that door in seconds.

I scoop his fragile and broken body into my arms doing my best to avoid touching his injuries.
With the boy in my arms, we approached the barricade, it’d be no trouble, the real issue are the ones
loitering behind it, sick animals waiting for him. I can’t risk putting them down while he’s with me.

The clatter of the kitchen chairs rings like a dinner bell for them, they’re upon us in seconds.

I’d seen them over and over, every night, contorted into vile shapes, moving franticly, I’d seen them as
monsters. They regard us both with cold malice. But with the boy in my arms I don’t see them as I did before
they aren’t monsters, they’re cowards, violent but cowards, nonetheless.

I hold the young boy to my chest and whisper “it’s okay, you’re safe” a weak whimper is they reply.

I walked forward, the two attackers glaring at me from the shadows of the hall, they’re confused but not
deterred. I looked to the larger of the two and spoke “Hey Sam, you recognise me, don’t you? I know what
you’ve done and what you’re planning to do so leave. Now!” The cruelty’s gone from his face in its place
blind panic. They scurry off into some side room.

I climb up the stairs whispering gentle reassurances into the boy’s ears, I arrive with him at his bedroom. The
strain of the evening clearly took its toll, he’s completely out of it.

“please don’t” he whimpers deliriously.
“shh shh, don’t worry little man it’s okay” I reply.

I wipe the muck from the cuts on his cheek

Root around the chest of drawers for fresh clothes for him.

Then I look in the wardrobe under the boxes for the teddy he thinks he’s too old for, I tuck it into his arms
and put him into bed.

I take one last look at him before I leave the room, he looks calm.

I’m in front of his parent’s room, heavy snores rattling the door I hope his stained pyjamas and broken body
will be evidence enough of this sleepover gone horribly wrong, that he won’t have to come up with lies or be
threatened into silence hammer on the door over and over until I hear someone stirring.

Just as they rise from their bed the scene began to fade around me.

I pulled off my headset.
I rush to my bathroom and stare into the mirror.
I run my fingers across my cheek where the scars used mar my face
They’re barely there, nothing more than a slight pale line.

Artwork & Text by Ezra Rickman