Come Play Charlie – Part 1: The Awakening

“Why do we live?” asked Charlie White as he sat through yet another session of therapy, in which didn’t change anything. Yes my mind is delusional but it isn’t my fault. Torment is what pushes someone over their limits, pushed too far and one’s spirit could snap.

“Charlie, you know that I can’t answer such a question,” responded my therapist Dr. Whitney Johnson who was dressed in a brown coat with wire frame glasses. She was about 42 years old but she didn’t really help my problem. My problem was that I was depressed, my dad was a raging alcoholic and my mother died when I was a young child. In school I had no friends and was bullied often by a kid named Grayson. The only person I talked to was the school therapist and even I could tell that she wanted to leave as soon as possible. She constantly would check her watch and towards the end of each session would always rush to leave as soon as she could. So if you think about it, no one wanted to talk to me without being paid.

“Can I just leave now? I have nothing I want to talk about,” I suddenly broke the silence.

“Charlie you know I can’t let you leave, maybe if you want we can work on your social skills,” responded Dr. Whitney.

“I don’t care for social skills I just want to leave,” I responded with a bit of anger,

“Charlie for the last time you can’t leave,” responded Dr. Whitney.

“Screw this I’m getting out of here,” I said as I started walking out

“CHARLIE!” she yelled I held up my middle finger and walked out. She grabbed me and slapped me on the wrist with a ruler and I screamed out loud.

“F**K THIS I’M OUT!” I screamed

“GET BACK HERE MISTER,” she responded but I continued on with leaving and didn’t plan on returning.

Upon arrival at school for the following day I was greeted by the school principal, he clearly was not impressed with me. I was called to the office and forced to apologize to the therapist, I wasn’t genuinely sorry but I pretended that I was to get it done and over with. I walked over to my locker only to see it being blocked by Grayson and his friends. Slowly I walked over but Grayson looked at me and smirked. “What’s up loser?” he said as his friends started snickering. “Just go away Grayson I don’t want any trouble,” I stuttered. Suddenly he opened my locker, how he knew my combination, I have yet to find out but he went over and grabbed me

“GET IN,” he yelled.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME,” I squirmed and fought but my attempts were futile. He shoved me in my locker banging my head in the process and locked it. Him and his friends walked away laughing, I even heard one bragging that they got it on camera. That was the last straw. No one can be such a terrible person as what he was to me. No one should suffer what i’ve suffered. I sat in my locker crying

As the horrible day of torment came to an end I walked home and trudged upstairs where I could be alone, away from those who have tormented me. I lived in the “shady” part of town and was living in poverty, much like most kids at my school. I hated this city and wanted to leave, leave everyone I ever knew behind. What I wanted the most was to see pain in Grayson’s face, I want to see him breakdown and cry. I wanted to show him that i’m not a loser but more so a winner. Yes, a winner. I like that thought I said to myself. I was sick of being a joke, sick of being the joke. Anytime someone gossiped about someone, I was normally involved in it somehow. Even the nerds picked on me. I couldn’t deal with it anymore. I pondered what life would be like elsewhere. Somewhere I was free, free from the pain. Then I was flooded with extremely dark thoughts. I tried washing the thoughts away but nothing was changing. I became angry and screamed. Shortly after my dad came in to see what was happening.

“Charlie are you alright?” asked my dad. “Yes I’m fine,” I lied. Yes I was angry, angry and sad. “Dad?” I asked, “why do we live?” I continued.

“Well son, some people believe that there’s many reasons why we live. Some think it’s to continue on the human race,” responded my father.

“How do I continue the human race if no one likes me?” I asked.

“Son, it may take some time, I was just like you as a child until I met your mother…” he trailed off. We try not to normally mention my mother but sometimes it happens. She was gruesomely murdered years ago after someone broke into our apartment and shot her with a gun on Christmas day. I was far too young to remember but just the thought of me being there that night scared me.

“It’s okay dad, it wasn’t your fault,” silence proceeded.

I awoke abruptly in the middle of the night hearing whispers, calling my name, asking me to come and play… the whispers sounded like they came from my closet but I was too afraid to check. I just laid there while the whispers slowly grew louder, and louder until at one point they sounded like screams. “Come play Charlie” is what they kept repeating. I hid under my covers and put my ear buds in to try and ignore it when suddenly it felt like someone was touching me. At first just a cold faint touch, but gradually it became more noticeable. It started to hurt, I could feel the blood circulation being cut off. I tried letting out a scream but nothing came out. Suddenly my neck started to compress, the thing was grabbing me by the throat. I was gasping for air, anything for air. My vision started fading and I managed to let out a loud cry for help. My dad immediately came into my room and I blacked out.

When I finally woke back up again, something felt off. Something just didn’t add up but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I soon realized that I was dreaming but the dream felt so real. In the dream I was in a black trench coat and black gloves on. I was in an apartment building and that was all I knew. There was snow outside so it must’ve been winter. Suddenly I lost control of myself and started walking, I couldn’t slow down and I couldn’t control where I was going. I got into an elevator and pressed the button labeled with “4”. The elevator arose and when I reached the floor the doors opened. I walked down the hallway right to a door that read Apartment #341. Uncontrollably I rang on the doorbell and preceded to crouch. I pulled out a 12 gauge shotgun and waited. The door opened and what I saw made me want to cry, at the door was a younger version of my dad sitting with my mom. Then I looked around and saw a baby, that baby was me. Without control I hit my dad on the head with the gun, he fell on the ground lifelessly. I closed and locked the door and had a sickly smile on my face as I stared at what appeared to be my mother, alive and looking as amazing as she did in the pictures I’ve seen. I pointed my gun at her and pressed the trigger. Everything went blank from there.

I shot up out of my bed in what appeared to be a hospital room. I was on life support and saw my heart rate monitor going like crazy, it wasn’t a constant ring which gave me relief that I wasn’t dead yet. My dream from when I was out still burned in my mind. Right up till the end when my mother was crying and holding a baby version of me. It was unnerving but then I realized what I had gone through the previous night, or was it the previous night? How long had I been out? Was I in a coma? So many questions left unanswered. I wanted to see my dad, I wanted to comfort him, tell him that everything will be alright. But what is alright? I’ve just been in a coma for I don’t even know how long, I had such a dark dream, and chances are that video Grayson had of me has gone viral on YouTube. For all I know I could still be dreaming, so I tested it. I got up and walked around my room and found something sharp, it was a scalpel. I cut it into my wrist and felt instant pain but saw no blood. I dug deeper and started to draw a line with it. Still no blood, I thought to myself that I was still unconscious so I decided to explore. I walked to the door and opened it. It looked like your average hospital but a bit more decayed. I ventured down a seemingly endless hallway until I found two doors. They both had signs on them each with its own text. The door on the right read “Keep out, Medical Personnel only” and the door to the left read “Section B rooms #346 – #446”. I tried the door on the left but to my surprise it was locked. Seeing that I had only two choices now, go back to my room or open the door on the right, my mind had a mini debate. Just as I decided to return to my room I was surprised to find out that there was just a wall blocking my path. It wasn’t there a minute ago, was it? “If I stay here any longer I’ll surely become insane,” so I tried the door on the right. It was unlocked. My heart instantly dropped.

Inside the room was the dead corpses of dozens of people. It smelt so terrible and made me want to cry and puke. In the middle of the room was a wooden chair with a cadaver on it. The rotting cadaver’s expressionless face stared directly at me. I recognised that face. It was me. It’s lifeless corpse was slowly decomposing with open flesh wounds and a deformed face, It was missing teeth and had no eyes. It’s hair was in tiny patches at the top of his head. He reeked of dead animals and rotten flesh and even had mold growing on it. I suddenly passed out.

I awoke suddenly in a bright white hospital room yet again but this time my dad was at my side. He was so excited to see me wake up. “Where… What happened?” I decided to ask. “Son, you had a heart attack,” he responded. How could I of all people of had a heart attack? I was 15 and was decently athletic. “How long was I out for…?” I asked. “Close to a month, we were all so worried, the doctors were afraid they would have to take you off life support. To my left was a heart rate monitor and many other medical machines. Flashbacks of what I saw immediately attacked me, my dad lying lifelessly on the floor, my dead corpse staring at me, my mother… “Is everything alright?” my dad asked with a concerned tone. “Ye… yeah…” I stuttered. “How much longer do I need to be here…?” I asked my dad. “The doctors say about a week, they want to monitor you and to see why you had such a violent heart attack for someone of your health,” he responded. “Aw man, I want to go home,” I said in a sad tone, “me too” he said with a teary voice.

  • Elizabeth

    Forgive me for saying but the dad , doesn’t really sound like a raging alcoholic

  • Elizabeth

    I mean , it’s better if he’s not an alcoholic , I like the story more like that x33