His Prize

Chapter 6: Finding a Weapon

"I'm going to work," he says putting on his jacket. "You can watch TV while I'm gone," he motions to the black square on the wall. "Use I-triple-E commands."

I look at him with a blank expression.

He sighs. "Like this, TV ON."

It lights up and my jaw drops. The colours are vivid, and it is so bright I can't tell where the screen ends and where the wall begins.

"Impressed?" He's smirking.

I quickly close my mouth, only for it to drop wide open again as he issues the next command.

"NEXT CHANNEL." The channel changes to a documentary about whales. It's like I'm in the ocean with them. TVs weren't this amazing when I was a kid.

He opens the front door. I can't take my eyes off the TV. "Oh, one more thing, don't break anything while I'm gone. If you deliberately mess up my living room, you'll lose TV privileges."

* * * * * * * *

He's been gone for hours. I've been watching documentary after documentary. This TV is incredible.

I hear his keys at the front door. It's evening now. He walks inside and hangs up his jacket. I stare at him from my position on the couch. It's as if I'm a buck trapped in a room with a lion. Except the difference is the bucks in the documentary weren't chained in place. They still had a fighting chance.

"TV MUTE," he commands, heading to a room I haven't seen before. I only catch a glimpse, but I'm guessing it's his bedroom.

He returns to the kitchen. My eyes track his every movement.

"Dinner will be ready soon."

I don't know what to say, so I keep quiet. What do you even say in a situation like this? I'm not going to ask him how his day was. I'd rather not know.

I watch his back as he cuts some onions. I haven't had onions in ages. I can't help but dream about dinner and all the old tastes from my childhood returning.

I'm delighted to see him preparing mince. Meat was a rarity after they took over, and it was pretty much non-existent when I was living alone.

Once dinner is on the kitchen table, he uncuffs me and takes his seat. I sit at the table and begin wolfing down my food, paying him no attention. It tastes even better than it smells.

"So," he begins awkwardly, "how was your day?"

I don't look at him. He doesn't deserve my attention.

After a brief pause, he tries again, "See anything good on TV while I was out?"

I keep my eyes on my food.

"Not much of a talker, huh? I guess you only talk when you have something disrespectful to say. It's a shame your parents didn't teach you any manners."

"I will only say this once. Do not talk about my parents," I snap.

"Watch it," he growls, "you better stay in line, human."

"Stay in line? You think I'm the one out of line!? You abducted me, remember! You have no right to any of this. It's wrong, and messed up, and-"

"That is where you are mistaken," he interrupts me, standing up. "I have every right. Specifically defined under Section 504 of the Human-Immigration Act. I have full rights to keep you captive for as long as I please. And in fact, I would watch that tone if I were you, because I also have the right to end your pathetic existence."

"What, you think I've forgotten that you're my judge, jury and executioner? Tell me Your Honour, what crime have I committed to deserve death? The crime of existing!? The crime of being born!?" I stand up. Tears brim in my eyes, but I push them back. I cannot let him perceive me as weak.

"Why are you acting like this!? I have been nothing but kind to you today. I have let you watch TV. I have given you good food."

"I don't want your TV, and I don't want your food! I want my freedom!"

He slams me against the wall. A sharp pain in my chest serves as a reminder of my broken ribs. He presses his arm against my collarbone, trapping me. Calling it intimidating would be an understatement. "Just submit, dammit! You're clearly at my mercy. Admit that you are my pet and you can have a good life."

"Go to hell, you lying son of a-"

I'm interrupted as he slams his fist into the wall, right next to my face. I stand my ground and hold my gaze with his.

He pins my arms behind my back and marches me to the bedroom where I woke up.

He shoves me inside, and I land on all fours.

"Well unfortunately for you, you can forget about your freedom. You will remain in my custody for as long as I decide to let you live." At that, he slams the door, locking it shortly after.

Now I'm fuming. Growling in anger, I grab the nearest loose thing I can find and throw it against the door. It was an empty glass. It satisfyingly shatters into a million pieces.

Before I can grab another object to throw, the door unlocks, and he storms inside.

He throws me on the bed and holds both of my hands above my head. I struggle against him, trying to get away.

"Since you cannot behave yourself when given even the littlest bit of responsibility, this has become necessary." He takes out a pair of handcuffs and locks both of my hands to the headboard.

Before I can get a word in, he leaves, and the door is locked again.

I sit up despite my pinned hands. I pull against the cuffs, filled with rage. Who does he think he is? He cannot just do whatever he wants. I pull and pull, trying to slip my hands out of the cuffs, or break the headboard, either will do.

I hear the front door slam. He has left the house.

It's not long before the pain from pulling overcomes my anger. It's no use. My wrists are stinging and have red rings around them.

As I calm down, I start to think clearly. He didn't bother to clean up the shattered glass. This is my chance!

I slide my legs off the bed, while my hands remain pinned near the pillow. Stretching out my foot, I'm able to guide a large glass shard towards me.

I can't reach it with my hands, so I go for the next best option and hide it under the bed. There's no other glass near, so he may miss it when cleaning. Once I'm uncuffed, I can use it to make a weapon.

I manoeuvre myself back onto the mattress. With some creative use of my feet and teeth, I'm able to pull the blanket over my body.

I lie on my side with my arms by my head, careful not to pull on the cuffs. This is my first real victory over him.

* * * * * * * *

It's well past midnight, but despite the comfiness of the cloud bed, I can't seem to fall asleep.

While listening to the peaceful cricket chirps, my mind has been racing, coming up with escape plans. I'm so excited to put them into action that I need to keep reminding myself of the dangers. He won't hesitate to kill me after a failed escape attempt. I only have one shot. I need to make it count.

The creak of the front door opening breaks the silence of the house. I listen to his footsteps clunk around the kitchen. Soon, everything is quiet again.

Relieved he didn't enter my room, I close my eyes, trying to get some actual sleep.

Published: 22 Oct. Edits: 23 Nov; 04 Dec; 28 Feb; 28 Jul