|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-05-2007, 07:07 PM
This is for all the people who wanted to know more about Regal from Allan's Journal: http://www.menewsha.com/viewtopic.php?t=20025 . I wrote this story a long time ago, and it's not one of my favorite works. I'm trying to fix it up to share though. It's divided into a series of parts, skipping back and forth between the past and the present. My plan is to post parts as I edit them. It probably shouldn't take more than a few days to post the whole thing though.
As always, I hope you enjoy and please tell me what you think. <3
Edit: Oh, and by the way, there's nothing graphic in this. <<,, Just in case people were worried by the first post.
Edit 2: It's complete. I'd love comments, especially on whether you think the ending sounds conclusive enough.
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-05-2007, 07:40 PM
March 2002
“Class, quiet down. Channel One is on.” Mrs. Palmer turned up the volume on the television mounted above her desk. “Reginald. Anthony. That includes you.”
Anthony quieted immediately and turned his eyes to the screen, but I continued to ignore the TV, barely registering that they were discussing the latest teenage sports player of the week. I watched our teacher return to grading papers, waiting for her to become engrossed enough in her job that I could finish telling Anthony my story in peace.
On the screen above her head, a new reporter appeared and began to speak. “As the priest scandals continue, more and more victims are stepping forward.”
Oh, great, I thought, raising my eyes to the screen, more of this.
“Despite high officials in the Catholic Church claiming that this has transformed into a witch hunt, many of the accusations seem to be true. Today, one priest who has been preaching for thirteen years, pled guilty to molesting several young boys.
“Father Jacob Shawl…”
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-05-2007, 08:49 PM
October 1990
“Father Jacob, is it?” Papa asked, holding out his hand. “I’m William Key. This is my wife Martha and our son Reginald.”
I was a big boy at five and a half years old when the new priest arrived at our church. Papa was a deacon, so we had to be first in line to welcome him.
“It’s nice to meet you.” He shook my mama’s and my papa’s hands, then held his giant hand out towards me. I tried to bite it. His fingers were as big as sausages, and I didn’t want them wiggling in my face.
“Is this your first parish?” my father asked, ignoring me. I hated how adults did that. I was practically grown-up and they still treated me like a baby.
“You could tell?” Father Jacob asked, laughing. The way his stomach, larger than that of most adults I’d met, shook fascinated me, and I paused in my struggles to escape mama’s prison tight grip to watch it. “Did I look that nervous?”
“You did…” Her unfinished sentence stopped there as I succeeded in kicking her arm. “Great,” she finished, her voice more strained at the end of the sentence than it had been at the beginning. “You did great.” My foot hit her fingers the next time, and she dropped me with a yelp. I landed on my hands and feet, and took off into the crowd of parishioners still waiting to greet the priest. “I’m very sorry,” she said before following after me.
As she searched among the tall people, I circled around and watched my father from behind one woman’s bare legs. I couldn’t see anything else of her above her large, hoop skirt.
“Energetic, isn’t he?” the priest asked. I scowled. They were talking about me.
“He’s been acting up since starting kindergarten,” Papa explained apologetically. They were talking about me and saying bad things. “I think we should hold him back a year; he’s the youngest in his class. My wife wants take him to a child psychologist, but I don’t think that would help.” And and using big words I didn’t understand. It was mean.
“You know, I majored in psychology before joining the seminary,” Father Jacob mentioned. “I could try talking to him.”
“That wouldn’t be a bother?” Papa asked.
“Not at all. I’d love to help.”
“There you are.” Mama grabbed me from behind, picking me up and carrying me to Papa. “We should be going,” Mama told Father Jacob as I struggled. “It was nice meeting you. Welcome to the church.”
“Thank you,” he said again. “I hope everyone here is as nice as you.”
Adults are so fake, I thought as they carried me to the car. One thing was certain. I did not want to talk to that man.
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-05-2007, 09:43 PM
March 2002
I was in my room when my parents got home. I could hear their murmured voices through the closed door, so I turned the volume up on my video game and went to work ridding the world of zombies.
When they eventually knocked, I called, “Come in,” without looking away from the game.
My mother opened the door and peered in. “Reginald?”
“Yeah?” I asked, killing three zombies with one command.
“Did you hear the news today?” She took a few hesitant steps into the room, followed by my father.
“What news?” I asked, wincing as my character was hit from behind. I really needed to pay more attention.
“About Father Jacob…”
I didn’t respond, and I could see my parents exchange a look in the glare from my TV.
“Did he ever…?”
“He didn’t hurt me,” I replied, finally pausing my game. At the rate I was being hit, I was going to die soon.
My answer didn’t satisfy them and my mom sat on my bed, patting the spot next to her. I didn’t immediately move, but it looked like they weren’t going to leave until I cooperated. As I sat beside her, she said, “Reginald, did he ever do anything to you?”
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-05-2007, 10:37 PM
January 1993
“I’ll see you in an hour,” Father Jacob told my mother as he closed the door. It was just us again. I hated when it was just us. Turning to me, he said, “Now, Reginald. Your mother says you’re acting up again. What’s wrong? You were doing so well for awhile.”
I didn’t reply, looking away defiantly.
“Did something happen?” he asked, sitting across from me. As I continued to remain silent, he added, “It doesn’t help anything if you don’t talk to me.” He reached a hand towards me but, as I scooted quickly away, he pulled it back. After a few minutes of silence, he said, “You remember what I said about these meetings being confidential, right? You remember what ‘confidential’ means?”
“Everything that happens stays between you and me,” I muttered.
“Good!” he exclaimed. “See how much easier this is when you cooperate? Do you know what ‘cooperate’ means?”
“Work together.” I continued to mutter. “Tuesday is cooperation day at school.”
“That’s a very good day to have,” he said. “Though you should cooperate every day, not just Tuesdays.”
As I sullenly pushed at the carpet with my shoe, he leaned back in his chair.
“We’re going to try something new today, okay?” he asked, glancing at the door. “I’d like you to take off your clothes.”
I jerked my head up. “Why?”
“It’s just a therapy technique,” he replied, his fingers tapping against the desk.
“But what good would that do?” I asked, my voice getting louder.
“Shh,” he said, quickly leaning forward and looking at the door again. “What have we said about questioning adults?”
We stared each other down for a long moment, and then I slowly started taking off my shirt.
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-06-2007, 01:17 AM
March 2002
“Reginald?” my mom asked. It must have been taking me a long time to respond. I hadn’t noticed.
“He never touched me,” I said. “You don’t need to worry.”
“Okay,” she replied uncertainly. “You know you can tell us if anything happened.”
“Yeah, Mom. I know.”
“We’re…” She stood up, wringing her hands together. “You remember we’re supposed to go out of town tomorrow. But we could stay if…”
“Mom. I’m fine.”
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-06-2007, 01:23 AM
September 1994
“And he just watched you?” Anthony asked incredulously, bouncing a basketball on my driveway.
“Yeah.” I held my hands out and he threw the ball to me. “For almost an hour every week.”
“That’s really weird,” he said as I took a shot.
“I know. He was obviously a freak.” I watched the ball miss the hoop and bounce to him. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? You’re the only one I’ve told.”
“I won’t…” He looked at me, idly dribbling. “Why didn’t you tell you parents? I would have.”
“It was confidential,” I replied, shrugging.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”
“Oh.” He threw the ball perfectly through the hoop, avoiding the rim entirely. “So… why are you telling me?”
“I guess ‘cause it doesn’t matter anymore,” I said, jogging after the ball. “He’s gone now.”
“Where’d he go?”
“To a new church.”
“I guess that’s good.”
“Yeah…” I picked up the ball and dribbled it back towards the center of my driveway. “I just…” I stopped dribbling, squeezing the ball between my hands instead. “I hate him. I hate the way I felt in his office. Like I had to do what he said. Like I had no control at all.” I threw the ball haphazardly towards the hoop, and it banged off of the backboard, bouncing off into the grass. “I never want to feel out of control again.”
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-06-2007, 09:00 PM
March 2002
I stalked down the hallway before school the next day. I was so intent in my fuming, that I didn’t immediately notice as Anthony sidled up beside me.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To class. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Isn’t your first class back that way?”
Ignoring him, I called, “Hey, Allan.”
The older boy turned away from his locker to look at me. “Yeah?” he asked.
“My parents are going to be gone this weekend. You want to come over?”
He brightened. “Sure. All weekend?”
“Yeah. Just come by at seven.”
“Well, I won’t need to pack much, so I could easily make it by five.”
I glowered at him. “Do you want to be punished?” I asked.
Allan grinned, leaned in, and whispered, “You know I do.” Pulling away, he asked, “You said seven, right?”
“Yes. Seven.”
“Awesome.” He closed his locker door. “I’ll be there at five.”
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-06-2007, 11:43 PM
February 1995
“Anthony!” I turned at Allan’s voice, watching him run over to Anthony in the schoolyard after last bell. “Can I come over today?”
“I’m sorry,” Anthony apologized. “Not today. My mom said you’re over too often.” At Allan’s pitiful expression, he repeated, “I’m sorry.”
Allan scanned the area, and I quickly turned away, trying to get on my bus before he noticed me. “Okay, bye,” he said, leaving Anthony as quickly as he arrived. “Regal!”
“That’s not my name,” I muttered. I was so close. One more step, and I’d be in.
“I know,” he replied, “But I can’t pronounce your name; it’s really long.”
“What do you want, Allan?” Sighing, I moved out of the way so that the kids behind me could get on.
“Can I come over today?”
I looked between his hopeful expression and the line of students watching us as they boarded the bus. “Fine.”
Once we were seated, I asked, “Why don’t you ever go to your own home after school?”
“I don’t like my home,” he answered.
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “My dad just seems a lot happier when he doesn’t have to deal with me.”
“I can understand that,” I grumbled, looking out the window.
“Hm?” he asked, wide eyed.
“Nothing.”
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-08-2007, 10:36 PM
March 2002
Anthony walked with me all of the way to my first class, even though his class wasn’t anywhere near mine.
“Is there a reason you’re following me?” I asked as we approached the door.
“Yes, actually,” he replied. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to –”
“It’s time for class,” I interrupted as the bell rang.
“Yeah, I know.” He looked in the nearest classroom, where students were taking out their books. “Look, I know you’re upset about yesterday.”
“I’m fine,” I said, turning to enter my class. He grabbed my shoulder to stop me.
“Regal, I think we should talk abo –”
“I’m fine,” I repeated, pushing him away.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I can see that.”
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-08-2007, 10:45 PM
February 1995
“As long as you’re over, we might as well play something,” I said, watching Allan wander around my yard.
“You have a nice place,” he replied, leaning his head way back to look at my house. He acted as if it were a skyscraper.
“Thanks. So, do you want to play something?”
“Like what?” he asked, bounding over to me.
“How about basketball?” I suggested. “I have a hoop on the driveway.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’m not very good at it though.”
“Are you good at anything?” I asked doubtfully.
“I like imagination games,” he replied, following me towards the driveway. “Like cops and robbers.”
I glanced at him over my shoulder as I opened the garage door. “Don’t you think we’re kind of old for that?”
“No,” he replied.
I shook my head but, as I was about to grab the basketball, I saw a line of rope that my dad used for hanging a hammock during the summer.
“Okay,” I said, grabbing it with a grin. “Let’s play cops and robbers.”
“Okay,” he happily agreed as I walked over.
“Stand by the basketball hoop.” He obeyed, leaning against the pole, and I started wrapping the rope around him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, turning his head to watch me.
“I’m tying you to the pole.”
His eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because you’re the robber, and I’ve already caught you. I’m a pretty good cop.”
“Regal, please.” He started trying to pull away, but I’d already secured him to the pole.
“Now, you get to try to escape from jail while I go get some hot cocoa. It’s cold out here.”
“Regal!” he yelled as I walked up to my front door, opening it.
“What?” I asked. “Are you scared? Can’t stand to be by yourself?”
“No,” he whimpered.
“Good.” I walked in, closing the door behind me.
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-08-2007, 11:12 PM
March 2002
I avoided Anthony until fourth hour, and ignored him when he tried to talk to me before class. Unfortunately, I still had to sit next to him, and as Channel One came on, he leaned over again. “Regal.”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“I don’t care what you say,” Anthony replied. I turned towards him. His words had sounded harsher than I expected. “Look,” he said. “About Allan. You know you shouldn’t –”
“Please,” I interrupted, “do not try to tell me what to do.”
Anthony tapped his desk, glancing briefly at the TV. “I know why you like Allan,” he said finally. “Allan lets you control him.”
I laughed. “Allan does not let me control –”
“Okay, fine.” He lowered his voice more. “Allan lets you dominate him. He’ll have fun disobeying little, unimportant orders, but in the end –”
“Reginald. Anthony,” the teacher called tiredly. “Silence.”
We both looked at the screen.
A minute before the bell, Anthony leaned over again. “I know you hate to feel out of control, and I know why, but controlling someone else isn’t real control. Not if you can’t control yourself.”
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-08-2007, 11:25 PM
February 1995
Allan watched me sullenly as I walked back outside. I’d taken my time making some cocoa and drinking it all before returning. He wasn’t struggling anymore, but from the look of his clothes and position, he had for awhile.
“You couldn’t escape from jail?” I asked, walking towards him. “After all that time I gave you? What kind of robber are you?”
He didn’t respond, and I stopped right in front of him.
“I guess you’re going to have to serve your full sentence,” I continued, trying to bait him. He still wasn’t responding though. That wasn’t fun.
“You have nothing to say?” I asked, leaning in. He pulled away, and I leaned in further, kissing him.
Immediately, his eyes widened, and I pulled away. I had no idea why I’d done that. Neither of us said a word, just looking at each other for a long moment, and then I moved behind Allan to untie him.
When Allan was free, he turned to face me. “Regal,” he started uncertainly.
“Go home, Allan,” I said, walking past him towards my house.
“I don’t know how to get home from here.” He continued standing in the same place.
“I don’t care,” I replied, opening my door. “Just go home.”
I slammed the door behind me.
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-08-2007, 11:39 PM
March 2002
I sat in my living room, waiting for Allan to arrive. I didn’t know exactly when he’d get there, but at least I could count on him to disobey me like clockwork.
The doorbell rang, and I walked to the door, putting my hand on the knob. I stood there until the bell rang again, and then opened it.
“Hey,” Allan said, grinning. He expected me to get mad at him. He wanted it. So what harm did it do to live up to his expectations? As I continued to stand there, his expression fell, and he shuffled uncomfortably. “So… Are you going to let me in?”
“No,” I replied, surprising myself.
“So…” He grinned again. “I have to stay out here?”
“No,” I repeated. “Just go home.”
He rubbed his hands together uncertainly. “And… come back at seven?”
“No.” I shook my head, starting to close the door. “Just go home.”
He was still looking confused when the door shut, and I locked it to keep him from trying to come in anyway. I slowly trudged up the stairs to my room and looked out the window. He was still there.
Sighing, I sat on my bed and put my face in my hands.
|
|
|
|
|
allikow
Dead Account Holder
|
|
10-10-2007, 01:43 AM
Hmm. I really like that. It flows nicely, and I like the way the flashbacks move much more quickly than the present.
|
|
|
|
|
Allan
*^_^*
|
|
10-10-2007, 04:25 PM
Thank you. ^-^
What did you think about the last sentence? I tried a few different ones, but nothing I did made it really sound to me like it was over.
|
|
|
|
| Currently Active Users Viewing This Thread: 1 (0 members and 1 guests) |
|
|
|
