Thursday's Child
folder
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
4
Views:
3,035
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
4
Views:
3,035
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Circle Room
Thursday’s Child
The Excitement in the End
Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
Chapter Two: Circle Room
It was Sunday again and the small girl walked her normal route to the church—Down the street, take a right, cross the street and go down the stairwell to the subway, pay for a ticket, ride it down four stops, get off, buy another ticket, take that subway one stop and get off. Bad things happened on the subway to her, so she wished there was another way to travel, but she had tried walking once and wound up lost for a few days, no one bothering to help her. Her Father hadn’t even noticed she was gone.
The Church was one door down from the top of the subway stairwell and she stopped just before putting her hand on the doorknob. Looking around, she was caught by the unusual placement of the church. Mass was held in a warehouse type building—completely straight edge, rectangular, and most certainly did not look like a church. There was not even a sign outside the single door leading to the large, nearly empty building from which the Sunday school lessons were held.
She looked at the one door she had to walk past to get here—the priest’s entrance, unknown to others and mainly thought to be storage of some kind. Mass didn’t start for another hour and a half but today she just was feeling upset. She dreamt about a school and all the kids in it were holding candles. They were all dressed up in uniforms, red and white ones. Normally, people looked at her as if she were too small and unimportant to pay her much mind, but these kids…they looked as if they worshiped the very ground she walked on. They all dropped the candles at once…and the school went up in flames. But they didn’t care—the girls joined hands around the boys and skipped and danced sideways, circling them as they watched with a hunger. She felt herself pleased with this show in her dream and smiled in the dreams’ wake. But when she got on the subway, she was small again. And that’s what upset her.
The heard the sound of a muffled scream and slap not far away. She raised an eyebrow and walked back down the sidewalk to the door from which the soft sounds were coming. Placing a hand on the wood of the door, she knelt down and listened with her ear pressed to the crack between the threshold and the door. Strangled moans were coming from inside, but it wasn’t close enough to be on the immediate opposite side. They were most likely coming from behind another door. She reached up and grabbed the handle, using it as leverage to stand herself up, and tried the door. It was locked—the priests always kept it locked. Angered that she could not find out just what the hell those noises were caused by, she kicked the wall next to the door in frustration. And the lock popped open and the door swung open as if someone was in a hurry to open it, forcing the girl to jump aside to avoid being hit.
She tiptoed inside; hesitating momentarily when she heard labored breathing sounding so close she swore she could feel the heat on her cheek from the breath. The room was dark and it was hard to see inside, considering the quick transition from the brightness of the outside going inside. There was only one other door in the tiny, circular room, and there was a window with drapes halfway covering it and the things going on inside. She peeked through the glass only to find her father standing behind a boy, looking about her age, slammed down on the table top from the torso up, her father’s hand splayed across his back, keeping him there. Her father was naked from the waist down, trousers pooling around his ankles, and the boy had been completely devoid of any clothes whatsoever. Father had his free hand on the boy’s right butt cheek and was pulling it apart from his other, finding pleasure at being buried deep inside a whimpering boy’s body. The hand that was just before on his back was now in the boy’s hair, pulling it back, ripping some of it, violently, irritated at the silence the boy was giving him.
The look of anguish on his face was irreplaceable as the boy’s head was turned to the window and he spotted her eyes. He mouthed the words ‘Help me’ over and over again. But she wasn’t a hero, only curious as to the sounds, and having her curiosity filled, she decided she was done there. She blinked calmly, satisfied to know where the noise came from and what caused it. She walked out of the circle shaped room and left through the widely opened door, never pausing to notice it closing and locking behind her.
That was a hypocritical house of sin. And she wouldn’t be attending church that day, or any day for that matter. She took a right and walked down the stairs to the subway. The miniature girl snuck onto the first subway that stopped without paying and sat in a corner. She closed her eyes and lent her head against the wall and insisted Sleep claim her. And he did.
She woke four hours later to a man in a leather jacket pulling up her pristine white Sunday dress and holding her right thigh hard enough to bruise it. She opened her eyes and stared at the man, daring him to move his hands anywhere near her virginity. His eyes bore into hers, his grip slowly lessoning. Bravely, he stole a hard swipe with his index finger along the middle of her panties.
The Excitement in the End
Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
Chapter Two: Circle Room
It was Sunday again and the small girl walked her normal route to the church—Down the street, take a right, cross the street and go down the stairwell to the subway, pay for a ticket, ride it down four stops, get off, buy another ticket, take that subway one stop and get off. Bad things happened on the subway to her, so she wished there was another way to travel, but she had tried walking once and wound up lost for a few days, no one bothering to help her. Her Father hadn’t even noticed she was gone.
The Church was one door down from the top of the subway stairwell and she stopped just before putting her hand on the doorknob. Looking around, she was caught by the unusual placement of the church. Mass was held in a warehouse type building—completely straight edge, rectangular, and most certainly did not look like a church. There was not even a sign outside the single door leading to the large, nearly empty building from which the Sunday school lessons were held.
She looked at the one door she had to walk past to get here—the priest’s entrance, unknown to others and mainly thought to be storage of some kind. Mass didn’t start for another hour and a half but today she just was feeling upset. She dreamt about a school and all the kids in it were holding candles. They were all dressed up in uniforms, red and white ones. Normally, people looked at her as if she were too small and unimportant to pay her much mind, but these kids…they looked as if they worshiped the very ground she walked on. They all dropped the candles at once…and the school went up in flames. But they didn’t care—the girls joined hands around the boys and skipped and danced sideways, circling them as they watched with a hunger. She felt herself pleased with this show in her dream and smiled in the dreams’ wake. But when she got on the subway, she was small again. And that’s what upset her.
The heard the sound of a muffled scream and slap not far away. She raised an eyebrow and walked back down the sidewalk to the door from which the soft sounds were coming. Placing a hand on the wood of the door, she knelt down and listened with her ear pressed to the crack between the threshold and the door. Strangled moans were coming from inside, but it wasn’t close enough to be on the immediate opposite side. They were most likely coming from behind another door. She reached up and grabbed the handle, using it as leverage to stand herself up, and tried the door. It was locked—the priests always kept it locked. Angered that she could not find out just what the hell those noises were caused by, she kicked the wall next to the door in frustration. And the lock popped open and the door swung open as if someone was in a hurry to open it, forcing the girl to jump aside to avoid being hit.
She tiptoed inside; hesitating momentarily when she heard labored breathing sounding so close she swore she could feel the heat on her cheek from the breath. The room was dark and it was hard to see inside, considering the quick transition from the brightness of the outside going inside. There was only one other door in the tiny, circular room, and there was a window with drapes halfway covering it and the things going on inside. She peeked through the glass only to find her father standing behind a boy, looking about her age, slammed down on the table top from the torso up, her father’s hand splayed across his back, keeping him there. Her father was naked from the waist down, trousers pooling around his ankles, and the boy had been completely devoid of any clothes whatsoever. Father had his free hand on the boy’s right butt cheek and was pulling it apart from his other, finding pleasure at being buried deep inside a whimpering boy’s body. The hand that was just before on his back was now in the boy’s hair, pulling it back, ripping some of it, violently, irritated at the silence the boy was giving him.
The look of anguish on his face was irreplaceable as the boy’s head was turned to the window and he spotted her eyes. He mouthed the words ‘Help me’ over and over again. But she wasn’t a hero, only curious as to the sounds, and having her curiosity filled, she decided she was done there. She blinked calmly, satisfied to know where the noise came from and what caused it. She walked out of the circle shaped room and left through the widely opened door, never pausing to notice it closing and locking behind her.
That was a hypocritical house of sin. And she wouldn’t be attending church that day, or any day for that matter. She took a right and walked down the stairs to the subway. The miniature girl snuck onto the first subway that stopped without paying and sat in a corner. She closed her eyes and lent her head against the wall and insisted Sleep claim her. And he did.
She woke four hours later to a man in a leather jacket pulling up her pristine white Sunday dress and holding her right thigh hard enough to bruise it. She opened her eyes and stared at the man, daring him to move his hands anywhere near her virginity. His eyes bore into hers, his grip slowly lessoning. Bravely, he stole a hard swipe with his index finger along the middle of her panties.