A Dark Echo -WritingGroupChallenge-
Kelan, a young gay buck, goes out for a good time at a local gay bar, only to wake to a nightmare...
A Dark Echo
© Cederwyn Whitefurr
7th October, 2024
All Rights Reserved.
This Week's Writing Challenge: Choose a song and write a story using at least 5 lines from the story as narrative or dialogue.
At least 1000 words, don't worry if you go over.
Tag all prompts with: WritingGroupChallenge.
Add all prompts to a separate folder.
Put the prompt description at the beginning of your story.
Inspired by Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen.
His world swirled in disorientation as the whitetail buck lay on the cold, hard ground, his heart pounding in his chest. His muzzle was streaked with blood, and worse, his throat burned and there wasn't a part of his body that didn't cause agony. He struggled to catch his breath, to clear the residual fog of whatever drug had spiked his drink, each inhalation painful as his body trembled in shock. He found himself partly immersed in a drainage culvert, it felt like a world away from the home he'd once known, where laughter had filled the air and sunlight had warmed his fur.
He tried to push himself up, but faltered, collapsing back onto the ground. Unbidden, thoughts fluttered like a startled flock of birds through his mind, disjointed, fragmented. Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Memories of what had transpired played in his mind like some sadistic madman's distorted film reel—him at a bar, having a few quiet drinks, talking with someone, introduced to others... then him being carried out of the bar, trembling, panting, staggering... Strong hands supporting him, helping him into a vehicle...
He barely turned his head, when his stomach flipped upside down and he profusely vomited into the muddied water, tears sluicing down his cheeks as more and more cruel memories flooded in. Helpless, incoherent, the feel of leather straps... binding wrists and ankles, their cruel words, their laughter, their...scent... what they had done, multiple times, unable to scream, to fight back, to...resist.
He was a gay buck, he knew this, he accepted this, but this... this wasn't what he'd gone to the bar to find...
They abused me, physically, psychologically, emotionally... I was drugged, helpless, something in my drink. They all took multiple turns, sometimes two at once, ravaging me like I was some... some inflatable doll for their sexual pleasure... He clutched his muddied paws to his head, shaking it back and forth, then crying hysterically, his hooflets tugging at his ears as if he could tear the very memories from his mind and dash them on the ground to shatter. When they were finished, I was broken, bloodied... worthless. Like trash. Like trash, I was dumped, left to die in this ditch...
He pushed himself to a kneeling position, his world spinning and tilting around him. Caught in a landslide of emotions, he squeezed his eyes closed, desperately hoping to wake in his bed, that this was just some sick, twisted nightmare. More memories surged forward, each one more agonising than the last. The men—human--their faces twisted in sadistic glee as they violated him, tortured him, done the most depraved and cruel thing they could do. He could feel their hands, rough and merciless, pulling his helpless self down into a void he feared he would never escape. He was broken, violated, nearly dead...but deep inside of him, a flicker of defiance ignited.
Open your eyes, he told himself, forcing his blood-crusted eyelids open once more. He looked around, the culvert was littered with trash and runoff. It was a fitting place for trash like himself... it is what I deserve. He thought, then squeezed his fingers into fists, pushing those thoughts away. The will to live pulsed through him, an echo of resilience. Somehow, he clawed his way up the embankment. He found a way to survive. He would find a way to fight back.
As he stood on the road edge, pain shot through his body, but he welcomed it. It reminded him that he was still alive. He staggered down the road, each step a battle against the memories that threatened to drag him under. As the morning sun began to rise and burn off the fog, he felt its life-giving warmth as foreign against his battered form. He could taste the blood on his lips, the taste of them clinging to his tongue, his burning, sore throat. It was all bitter reminders of the violence and depravity they'd unleashed, yet the thought of revenge filled him with a bitter sense of purpose.
I will find them, he promised himself. Those who broke me—_the flicker of defiance ignited into a blaze, one his dark emotions gleefully fed. Rage coursed through his veins. _I will find them, I will face them... I will show them what true fear is...
*
It took him nearly a month to find them. Whilst his physical wounds had healed, his emotional and spiritual ones had turned dark and fetid within him. He followed them to an abandoned warehouse, where their latest plaything—a young male otter- had been dumped on a dilapidated couch. Their cruelty was only about to start...
Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality... he thought, as he raised the weapon. At that moment, he felt the coldness of it against his palm, a sharp contrast to the white-hot fire that burned in his heart. He would not be their victim any longer. He would make them feel the pain he had endured.
His heartbeat quickened as he snapped the pistol up, the anger transforming into a single-minded focus. His pulse thundered in his ears, the adrenaline surging. As he stepped out of the shadows, startling them, recognition flared in their eyes. In his paw, which had been trembling, he carried a Glock 19 pistol. Their laughter died as they met his gaze, their eyes widening in shock and disbelief. At that moment, a part of him trembled. He was not a killer: he was a victim. Their laughter—his memories of their cruelty—spurred him forward.
He began pulling the trigger. The deafening sound echoed in the room, shattering the tense silence. Time seemed to slow as each bullet found its mark, and the weight of what he had done settled heavily on his shoulders.
Their ringleader, he had only wounded. Terrified, and bleeding, the man crabbed backwards, eyes wide, face white, pleading for mercy. Kelan would not grant him such.
He placed the Glock against the root of the man's penis and pulled the trigger...
After the chaos subsided, he was left alone with the unconscious otter and the consequences of his actions. The adrenaline faded, leaving behind a hollow emptiness. Guilt washed over him in waves, and he sank to the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks as he pulled a cell phone from one of their discarded clothes pockets. His fingers trembled as he began to dial a number.
He dialled his mother's number, his heart racing. The phone rang and rang, each tone echoing his rising panic. Would she understand? Could she forgive me for the darkness that has overtaken my soul?
When she finally answered, her voice was worried and confused. “Hello?”
“Momma,” he gasped, his voice cracking. “I just killed a man. Put my gun against his head, pulled my trigger, and now he's dead...” The words poured out, raw and unfiltered, as the weight of his actions crushed him beneath the inevitability.
After the call, he called 911, then let the phone fall from his nerveless fingers. He felt the sickening sensation of guilt wrap around him like a cloak. Nothing really matters, he thought, a chilling truth echoing in his mind. Anyone can see... Faces of those he loved flickered in his thoughts, their smiles now just like ghosts haunting his memory.
Their laughter felt distant, belonging to someone else, someone who had never faced the darkness that now devoured him. In his heart, he knew that nothing mattered anymore—not the love of his mother, not the friendships he once cherished, nor the flickering hope of a better tomorrow.
With his shaking hands, he raised the gun to his chin. A tear slipped down his cheek, mingling with the blood on his muzzle, an ironic reminder of the violence that had shattered his life. In that fleeting moment, he thought of her –his mother-- and he whispered, “I'm sorry...”
Nothing really matters... nothing really matters to me... The gunshot rang out, echoing in the void, as everything went black.
END