Surviving the King

Pins and Needles

-Mari-

That arrogant son of a literal b***h! Enraged, I yelled after him, “Corbin the Coward! King nothing!”

After it echoed off the walls a moment I heard his departing footsteps stagger then pause before continuing with discernible frustration. I smirked in satisfaction as I sat on the bed and started looking around the room again, this time determined to find something helpful.

Remembering the clothes in the wardrobe I went to look through the clothes on the other side. I touched the delicate eyelets, frills, and lace of the garments. These were high-end children’s clothing and not likely to be off-the-rack. There were no tags on or inside them but they were impeccably made. They were old, but were classic enough to be worn today. One dress appeared to be stained, however, and was the last on the rack. The stain on the white bibbed collar looked like wine.

“Why would a child have wine?” I said out loud in total confusion. The dresses were for a girl no older than six years old. A feeling in my head began to prickle almost like a needle and I flinched with a recollection. “It’s juice!”

I’d spilled grape juice on myself at a holiday party. I stepped back at the wardrobe and inspected the hand painted filigree and flowers on the outside. Again, pin pricks as I recalled tracing the designs with smaller fingers. I turned around and faced the bed trying to dredge any other memories from the edge of forgetting. Nothing else seemed to stand out as familiar beyond the layout of the room. The parquet floors and the bed didn’t seem to fit in the room. My eyes rose to the chandelier and I noticed dust and cobwebs. That was the only thing in the room that hadn’t been recently cleaned or dusted. Likely because it was so far off the ground.

I’d been in this room or one very similar at one point as a kid, but I was getting a headache trying to force myself to remember more. I was going to have to pace myself and figure out where I was to get an understanding of why I was there.

Just then the door opened and a big guy with a mask came in. He was wearing all dark street clothes and had on a gaudy Cuban link bracelet. He stood for a moment looking at me curiously before slinging a food cart into the room.

“Eat and make it quick,” he said and turned to walk out. I recognized his voice from when I was held in the prior location.

“Where am I?” I asked before he shut the door.

“The gates of hell,” he chuckled and slammed the door behind him.