Plain of the Fourteen Pillars - Book 1

Hump1 entered with a glowing hand.

  Moments earlier Billy had opened his eyes to darkness. Beneath his sprawled body was a gritty, awful smelling, yet unusually warm cobblestone floor, and all around him the air felt thick and heavy to breathe.

  Through the Hump’s chubby fingers Billy could see a mass of something green and phosphorescent. It was thrown upwards to hit a ceiling of stone where it stuck with a whack, before the Hump retreated again and closed a solid looking wooden door.

  The new light offered Billy’s eyes no discomfort, it glowed dull and green, but it filled the room well enough that he could see. He was in a small square shaped cell, its every surface made of stone, and its air was dusty.

  Not long had he imprinted these stark new surroundings to memory, when Hump1 re-entered once again, this time with a small wooden bowl of something that looked somewhat unrefreshingly furry and utterly disgusting. On second glance, after the bowl was placed at Billy’s feet and the Hump had grunted and left him alone for the third time, did Billy see that the contents of the bowl was in fact not furry, but did indeed remain utterly disgusting.

  Billy was hungry.

  But was he hungry enough to eat that?

  Yeah..?

  He picked up the bowl and lifted it to his nose. There was no smell. He dipped a little finger into it. It was cold. He put his little finger in his mouth and it tasted like a muddy puddle.

  Allowing himself no time to reconsider, he drank the cold, muddy broth directly from the bowl, chunks and all....

  Chunks?

  They stuck in his throat and made him gag, but he persevered and finished every last drop. He even licked his lips after hurling the empty bowl across the room in utter disgust.

  That was that.

  Many hands then passed. He heard gruff voices outside the cell door, and those same voices grow fainter as they moved away. There was silence. Bangs and clatters occasionally echoed and a low hum permeated the walls every eight hands precisely.

  Billy had never known claustrophobia, even the shallow hares’ burrow he had managed to sink himself into at the tender age of four now seemed larger than life and much less oppressive. To his dismay he felt scared and alone, probably for the first time since....? He had been taught by his father to stand up to adversity - be strong son, and noble in all circumstances – and the less tolerant – suck it up – was another phrase coined. Both of which had served him quite well, but hadn’t really prepared him for that inconceivable time in his life when he might find himself abducted by a band of Humps and cast into a confined stone cell all for the sake of an orange coloured plastic pellet gun. He used to cherish that gun; it hardly seemed significant now in the wake of these last few days.

  Billy’s ears pricked at the clamour of the heavy wooden door as it was unlocked and swung open again. Enter Humps 1, 2 and 3, barging their way in with a unified grunt and a slap of their bloated bellies. Their combined bulk filled the room which shadowed much of the phosphorescent green glow emanating from the thing on the ceiling; and their concentrated odour was highly objectionable.

  Without warning they grabbed him and held him, their thick hands were around his wrists and pressed hard against his back. He felt awkward, suspended, he was no longer on the floor but lifted up, levelled with three gaping navels which moved in and pressed against him, constricting his struggles. Verbal protests were wasted and lost, spit was casually wiped away with an oily handkerchief, and if Billy could have craned his neck well enough to bite them he would have.

  Before long he was held firm, chastised by the Humps’ gruff laughter, and when they stopped laughing their eyes looked to one another with a peculiar understanding.

  For Billy the pause was frightening.

  Then, to his horror, they began to pull his clothes off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE