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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2206323-The-Birth-of-Ada-Lynn
Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Dark · #2206323
Self-reflection and discovery of Ada's life of ignorance to herself
The keyhole only bared a half-truth of what lurked behind it. The long corridor hauntingly upholstered in a dusty, drab brown worn rug that stretched the entire length and the dented rustic wood floor planks marrying it perfectly. The frayed sides of the carpet showed it's age, the eras and torment it's seen. There were no doors on either side, no windows, for the entire length of the far-stretched corridor, just one door at either end. The door that she entered and the door that she now kneeled at peeking through the keyhole with great trepidation.

She arrived with a piece of red cloth tied around her eyes. Her body bruised, her legs hurt, her head hurt, her eyes stung from the foul odour that adorned her dress, the smell of death, of fear, the scent of her persecutors.

Why was she here? What did she do wrong? Why was this happening? Why has she been lead here?


The door locked and her tiny body fell to the ground from a violent push with her forehead almost hitting the ground, saved by her forearm. She lifted the cloth from her eyes and turned in haste, to test the door it was locked. Her heartbeat faster; there was only one way out, the door at the other end of the corridor. Its colour stood out, a pillow box red, well nurtured and maintained, it's shine was the only distraction from the dreary dark horror she found herself in and the stench that lingered in the air—the musky putrid smell of death and decay of rotting flesh.

She took small distressing steps towards the red door, knelt and with a tiny blue eye, she peered through the keyhole. Her body shook, her organs tensed, she was cold through her core and then she caught a glimpse of a chair. An old, stained, rickety chair, it moved slowly, rocking back and forth. Two small humans wedged into its deep seat, two children with rigour Mortis in their jaws and muscles. Their bodies rigid, their eyes wedged open with tiny metal pins that pierced through the socket skin, and their mouths spread wide with larger longer metal pins, into a mysterious gaping hole. The little girl's body shook more frantically, the hideous nightmare she was witnessing had sent her into a foreboding sense of awful fright. The light was dim inside the room, and she angled herself slightly to try and see further around the room. There on the floor, she sees another small figure, a moving, living and breathing figure, making heinous noises that sent chills through her. A young boy that had his legs parted and his chest pressed against the wooden floor, leant over a hole in the wooden planks. It was square, with a trap door that leant against the wall. The top of a ladder strut was visible that looked like it leads down into the hole in the floor. It was dark, and the young boy was distraught, his grunts, curdling chants and rocking motions, terrified the little girl. She couldn't contemplate what was down the hole in the floor nor wanted to know, she turned and looked down the long corridor in an attempt to find an escape. Petrified, she ran to the other door and shook and tugged at the handle, it was still locked. There was no other way out.

Life had not been kind to the little girl; the darkness followed her, took her and bled from her bones. Yet, she walked each step without assumption, and she knew no answers. The tiny fraction of her life lived by ideas, questions, and an unknowing of what will come. She stood with a daunting feeling in the pit of her tummy and gripped the handle with her tiny hand and turned the red doorknob. Achingly slowly she opened the door, to reach a full view of the horror before her. Her little frame traumatically shivered as the rancid decaying odour engulfed her senses. Her menacing glare with wide eyes targeted the young boy still rocking and chanting unnerving noises. She was horrified yet succumbed by the curiosity of the boy looking down into the hole in the floor. She edged closer, treading as softly as she could to avoid his attention. The closer she came to him, the stench got stronger, unbearably so, emanating from the hole in the floor. The boy was unresponsive in an isolated sense of self, disturbed and lost within himself. The chair continued to rock, and a slight faint morbid sound of children's voices humming. The little girl, scrunched the corner of her dress in her tiny hand, nervously begging in her quiet whimpers, for a way out of this grim place she found herself in. The room was as shabby and worn as the corridor, and she wondered why just that door was maintained impeccably and yet everything else was dreadful. She stepped closer to the doorway to the hole in the floor. There was no other way out, she could only go down the ladder, into the abyss, without no idea of what lay beyond. The boy's cries and anguish seem to give off a warning of her not to go down, but she had no other choice. Was the young boy in a safe zone? Was the grim, agonizing state he was in, his only redemption? Was it better to be dead than alive? She felt alive, she felt real, but the boy seemed dead inside. As if, his body lived, but his soul destroyed. Was he living in hell? The torment was apparent in him, but the little girl wanted a way out, she tried to find a way home.

Planting two little feet on the first rung of the ladder, she gripped her hands to the sides of it and took another look, a closer look at the boy before descending. His face was gauntly pale, the pain seeped from within him and caused dark shadows to cast across his eyes, mouth and ears. His rocking and chanting didn't falter, he mastered it, timing his movements and deathly torment flawlessly. And with each step on the rungs of the ladder, inching lower and lower below. The waft of human desperation, menacing hatred and brutal death enveloped all around her, like a tornado of pain, suffering and turmoil. The lower she stepped, the more intense it became, and her small body shook harder, her eyes desperately closed, not to see, not to encounter what lay before her. Feeling her way down, she made it to the last step until both feet were grounded. The air was cold, a haunting disturbance all around her, and she opened her eyes. Sinister sounds aggravated her ears, blood-curdling screeches, sobbing, monstrous deep voices gargling anger. Behind the ladder on the wall was a worn and torn wallpaper, splattered with years of pain. The courage in her to turn was overwhelming, thoughts shot through her mind that tripped over one another and barely able to contain herself, the fright in her began to feed off adrenaline coursing through her, and she turned to the most horrifying sight.

Stood before her were five children, with their arms rigid to their sides. Their chests without breath, their glare transparent through her. Lifeless and unfeeling, they stood like statues, almost demonic, alarming her. The expanse of the area was broad, with high walls and ceilings, a long dark tunnel seemed to be the only exit out and littered across the edges of the walls were concrete cells with no doors or railings, just concrete shells. It was apparent to the little girl where the noises and harrowing sounds emitted from, for as her eyes darted around without no safe place to hold them, her sensory overload found the paths to each distressing sound.

A chamber of human desolation, the markings of life's traumas apparent in the souls of the people at war with themselves, that yielded to the hallmark of suffering. The wallpaper began to rip tearing from the walls, revealing etchings of the misery from all the years of existence. The little girl could do nothing but stand and stare at it. She hadn't moved a step from where she landed and in utter dismay, traumatized, she could do nothing more than watch on, unable to know which direction to go that would find her safety or a way home. It was almost unearthly, but the humans were real, the stench was confirmed, the sounds and the formidable feeling of absolute tribulation were unmistakable. To her left in one of the concrete cells was a man, his body floating a few inches above the ground. Lifeless, with the darkness surrounding him and the floor swirling beneath in circular motion, slowly closer and closer with his courage depleted, he was lost inside it. The next cell beside the man was a teenage girl, clawing at her skin as she stood on a blood-stained bed, looking into a long deep tunnel in the wall that seemed to have no end and harboured razor-sharp blades within it. The girl was distraught and trapped with no escape; her only consolation was tearing her flesh from her body.

The little girl was overcome with a genuine need to help them, but they were already lost, just like the young boy at the top of the ladder she could do nothing for them but watch in anguish. The thought of an exit had dispersed. The overhaul of senses at the disturbing truths of the macabre of life and she wondered if she was alive? why she saw this? What was the purpose? Who brought her there? And she turned to hear the heinous screams of an older man burning alive in a bed in another concrete cell. The flames were ferocious, savagely melting his flesh, his organs and harrowing shrieks echoed her ears. She ran towards him, wanting to save him, but as she got closer an almighty gush of energy knocked her to the ground, causing her to twist her ankle. Crying out in pain, she hobbled to her feet, the smell of burning flesh dowsed the air and the older man's howls simmered and came to a halt. Standing there with tears streaming her cheeks, a woman appeared before her, bent over backwards, scraping her face and cutting it with her nails. The little girl screamed and tried to run away from her, but the pain in her ankle ceased abrupt movement. The woman jolted forward suddenly like a demonically possessed asylum patient, her face inches from the little girl and boar her dark black depths of holes for eyes directly at the little girl. She quivered and cried out, "Why is this happening! Please stop!" The woman's face torn to shreds, her eyes were gone, her hair had large bald patches, her soul utterly lost within the depths of sorrow. The little girl couldn't bear it, she turned around and fell to the floor, hugging her legs pulled up close to her body. She whimpered, and rocked just like the young boy at the top of the ladder, using hope as her only diversion from the truth.

As she huddled in a tiny ball, memories flashed through her mind. She witnessed a long life, a life that seemed alien to her. She was just a girl, after all, a girl in this pit of human torment, experiencing within them, their distress and anguish. As the memories flickered with overwhelming emotion and inner torment that all the people in the hell pit suffered, she felt a twist in her soul, pinching and poking at her. She felt, what wrongdoings accomplished and realized it's impact, she felt, what right and good promoted and understood its impact. She saw all that came in between, how choices lead her to where she was. She discovered that nobody took her to the red door, but she had placed herself there. She lifted her head from the cradle of her knees, stood and felt no pain anymore. Looking down to examine her ankle she saw herself as a woman and looked around the room. All the horrifying sounds diminished and all the people in the concrete cells, were her, even the five children that stood lifeless. She runs over to the ladder, peered up and looking back down at her, was her. Her eyes widened, her brow scrunched, and she opened her hands to witness a grown woman's hands in front of her and in that moment, an unequivocal truth bestowed upon her.

She suffered her whole life hiding within her suffering, reliving moments in her memory that tailored to destroy her, to hold her within a bliss of ignorance, tormenting her. She wasted the entirety of her life, allowing the persecutions of her failings and savagery of others to eat away at her. It was only in her demise and end of life that she was finally free, finally aware, unsheathed. Tears began to stream once more, drenching her cheeks, a devastating sadness surrendered, and a total peacefulness filled her soul. She raised her head once more, all the parts of her existence drifted into marvellous light, and as she walked towards the light, vowing to herself, that when she returned, she would never live within ignorance again. She was whole again.






Copyright © 2019 T.C.Holls 6466241119S026
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2206323-The-Birth-of-Ada-Lynn