Saving Simon
Never have I seen anything so beautiful as a sunset. When the sun would be overtaken by the soft glow of the moon, it would signal the end of my horrors and my time to sequester myself in the comforts of my stuffed straw sack, creaky wooden floors, and my favorite, a doll that would happily greet me and only me every night when I came home. The doll looked a sight, and had enough dirt caked onto its body to turn the straw into an obscure shade of brown, dark brown, just like me. It didn’t have hair, for it has been torn off in my days of rage, but still rests at the top of its head when my guilt overwhelms me and I attempt to sow it back on as an act of forgiveness. Of course, I’m not as good at sewing as my master, but I have enough to get me by. Still, nobody would bother to touch my Damien, my doll, my other half. Nobody but me.
There is a boy around my age, my master’s son named Jacob. At night, Jacob will come into my room and try to pry my doll out of my hands, but to no avail. “Let’s play,” he tries to tell me, “or maybe we can get you something to eat. Why don’t you pay attention to me, Simon? I love you. This is why you are here.” I tune out his incessant rambling and take refuge in the corner of my room where my doll waits for me. Jacob cries and eventually leaves, but I can’t understand why he would be so compassionate towards his slave in the first place. This is where I belong, alone with my doll to guide me.
I set it down on my lap, and tell it tales of my day in the sweltering sun. “My masters made me go outside with play with Jacob again. They keep telling me that I’m just like Jacob and that I must stay outside and play normal games with Jacob so that I can be just like him. They say we are brothers. Brothers? How could a slave be considered a brother to the child of my masters?” I continue to ramble on, falling deeper and deeper into sleep, and right before I drift off into my state of slumber, I hear an ethereal whisper say ever so softly, “The key to being happy is to be alone.”
Morning. I must rise from my room and be heaved into the sunlight, forced to play nice with people much paler than I. A small red ball falls to my feet. “Next time, try to catch the ball, son,” my master calls. I stare at him, perplexed as to why he keeps calling me his child. After a minute of silence, I depart into my room, craving the comfort of my Damien, my doll, my best friend. After going into my room, a fit of exhaustion overwhelms me. My eyes go heavy and just before I close my eyes, I swore I saw Damien move towards me. I waived it off to my exhaustion, but just before I slept once more, I heard an urgent voice say, “Simon! Simon! The key to being happy is to be alone!”
I awoke to see Damien standing on top of my chest, which is strange because he isn’t able to stand on his own. I saw a shimmering silver blade tucked into one of his nubs as he approached my face, swinging it closer and closer to my eyes. “Don’t scream, Simon. I am only here to help you.”
—
I was thrilled when my parents told me I was going to have a little brother. Even though his skin was darker than mine, I still loved him and wanted to share happy memories together. Simon was very silent and secluded himself from the family. Whenever he did speak, he spoke with a large vocabulary, which surprised me considering his age. Some kids are just prodigies, I guess.
Simon had a doll that he would always walk around with. He treated the doll as if it was an actual living human being. It sort of scared me sometimes, but whenever he was separated from it, he would get a scared look on his face, so father told me to leave him be.
I wanted to save Simon from the lonely path he was going down and always offered for him to join in on my activities to which he would always refuse. Sometimes, in the night, I would sit outside his door and hear him having conversations with Damien as if the doll was actually responding to him.
On one particular night, I sneaked into Simon’s room to sleep next to him. However, I noticed Damien on him holding a knife. I ran out of the room and quickly told my parents. They scolded Simon and locked Damien away in a chest. I was relived. However, Simon’s whole personality changed and his eyes looked dark and empty.
—
Years passed in that dark trunk and I could do nothing but bear witness to the events that unfolded. Simon and Jacob’s parents locked me in a trunk next to Simon’s bedside and told him constantly that he wouldn’t be able to get me back until he started to act like a normal boy would. For years, I stayed within those dank four walls and listened to Simon’s giggles during the day and his muffled sobs throughout the night. It was obvious that Simon wasn’t going to get any better, and personally, I envisioned him having a mental breakdown. Although it was what I expected, I couldn’t have pictured anything as gruesome as this.
Today, Simon’s light tread turned into heavy stomps. I could only imagine this was going to be the beginning of the end. I heard the rustle of the bed sheets, not as though he was going to sleep, but as though he was frantically searching for something he could not find within the folds of his bed sheets. At last, he discovered what he was looking for! I heard the steps come closer to the chest, stop abruptly, and the sound of a saw cutting through the wood that separated myself from the world. His eyes were wild as he snatched me from my resting place and flung me towards the bed. “Damien,” he said, “I’m going to do what you’ve told me to do all those years before. I’m going to be happy, and I’m going to do it alone.” A frightening grin washed over his face, his teeth glistening in the darkness that surrounded them. I saw his lanky, towering frame exit the room, knife in hand, and three distinct voices yell for their lives until they didn’t have a life to fight for.
Simon entered the room once more, with a saw in his hand and blood spattered on his clothing, his face, and most alarming, his teeth. He licked his fingers and came to me once more, as if to inform me that he had done the deed. Maybe now he would be happy. Until I saw what happened next.
He settled me onto the bed so that I was leaning on the wall and stood in front of me. His expression turned despondent as he tossed the saw towards me and walked to the other room. He returned with a rather large knife with a black handle, the very same one he settled into my arms years before. He stared straight into my button-eyes and without another word, plunged it into his heart.
I wish I could’ve done something to save Simon.
Credited to Shamar and Sarah
Originally posted on Crappypasta.com on March 21, 2014
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