THIS IS MY ENTRY . . . THAT IS ALL
The room was lighted buy a single bulb, casting dark shadows in the small area. It created an air of sandness and poverty. In the cornor of the dark, poor, room rested a small wire cot. Laying on the rusty metal cot was a small child, coughing and covered in sweat. A weeping man stood over the boy, clutching his small pale hands lovingly. He cried and shook with emotion, apparently ravaged by the boys weakened state.
"I'm so sorry Charlie," he wept over and over, "So sorry."
He had been kneeling besides the bed for hours, comforting the sick boy. He had said nothing except sorry to the poor child.
A door at the back of the room clicked open. The weeping man turned towards the sound, tears running down his face. A tall dark man stood in the door way, silhouetted by the light in the hall way. He wore a dark black overcoat and matching fedora. He held a wet umbrella in his gloved hands.
"Why do you torture your self Alan," the dark man said in a rough voice.
The weeping man turned away, looking back at the sick child.
"I may do as I please," he said, voice weak and defeated.
The man in the black fedora walked forward and stood over the dying boy. He stood tall and his manner was strict. He took off his hat, relieving his face. It was hard and old, with deep frown lines. His hair was black, peppered with strands of grey. He was well kept and clean, not like the man kneeling besides him.
"You know Alan . . . you brought this upon yourself," he said with a tight voice. The weeping man shot to his feet and pushed the man next to him to the ground violently. He fell to the ground and hit his head against the cement wall of the small room. The weeping man stood over him with closed fists.
"don't you dare accuse me of doing this," he yelled, grief sounding in his voice. "Don't you dare think I would do this to my son."
He knelt down and grabbed the dark man by the collar, shaking him ferociously.
"You are the reason this happened," he screamed into the mans face. "YOU WILL DIE, HEAR ME . . . DIE."
Armed guards quickly pooled into the room holding shields and nightsticks. The screaming man began hitting the dark haired one with his closed fists, landing powerful blows. One of the guards ran to the man and tried to wrestle him off, but was pushed backwards harshly. More men came to help and finally pulled the weeping, screaming man off. The man who had been assaulted rose to his feet, blood poring down his face. The armed guards held the crazed man steady despite his relentless efforts to break free.
"You are a fool," the bleeding man spat. He punched the struggling prisoner in the stomach. The guards held him steady as he doubled over in pain. The dark man then grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head up.
"You rabble will all fail in the end," he said with a savage grin, landing another punch to the mans stomach."Your son is just one in a million . . . A lesson to those who don't answer my call . . . Guards, Release him."
The armed men let go and the man collapsed to the ground. He held his stomach and began weeping again, fresh tears poring down his face.
"Go to him," the dark man said, motioning towards the wire cot in the corner. "You will be joining him soon unless you give me your final answer."
He kicked the crying man one last time, then walked out the door. The Guards looked at each other uneasily then followed there leader, leaving the man on the ground.
The man cried and shuddered in utter grief. He had been defeated and deep down he hated to think that that tyrants word were true. It was his fault for all this. If only he had obeyed the mans demands earlier. Maybe, he thought, he would have to accept the dark mans proposal . . . in the end.
He slowly crawled towards the small cot and leaned against the wall. His son lay on the small mattress, unknowing of what had just happened. He grabbed the boys hand and held it up to his mouth, kissing it.
"Forgive me Charlie . . . " he whispered.
He was barely able to get the words out, voice shuddering with emotion. The boy showed no sign of hearing him though, he just lay in the bed, eyes closed and breathing slowly. The man looked to the ground and wept heavily, crying out in pain and sadness.
Out side the door, the man in the dark coat came up to a small one way window looking into the small dingy room. He beheld the scene with an emotionless face, blood still dripping down his nose. He placed on his wrinkled fedora and wiped a drop of blood running down his forehead.
"Kill the child tonight," he said to a man next to him. "Give him a lethal dosage. Perhaps then he will do as I asked."
The man nodded and started down the long white hallway they stood in. The dark man remained, staring at the weeping father.
"You should have listen to me Alan . . . none can deny me my will." He then turned and walked down the hall, the opposite direction of what the other man had gone. He came to a glass door and walked out into a city street, rain pouring from the sky. A car waited on the curb.
The dark man rushed to the vehicle and opened the back door, hurriedly stepping inside. The interior of the car was extravagant, full of expensive styling and commodities. A driver sat up front.
"Afternoon President, how was the meeting." he said as the man shut the door
The man smiled, "Just pleasant."
Deep in his dark mind . . . he knew the man would break.
He would get his "answer" yet.