Unreliable Narrator

This is my humble addition to the flash fiction writing contest.The inspirational song that came up was Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down.

My chosen lyric: If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?

Rate, comment, and enjoy, folks!

Chapter 1

Unreliable Narrator

They all call me crazy, but it seems like I’m the only one that can still see.

Those that come and go, they either cannot hear me or ignore my cries for help. I am trapped here, not quite kidnapped—more like captured. They haven’t tortured me for information yet but I am under the assumption that it will be coming soon.

I do not know why exactly they keep me here, only that they oppose me and my quest. It sounds cliché but yet I call it a quest. My aim (or at least it was, before I was so rudely halted) is to rid my fair city of evil and sins, to fight for the side of good and righteousness. I am—or was—The Reacher. That was my alias. Now I am simply me in my struggle to escape them and their madness and return to my life.

My fingers trace lazy circles on the sheets of my bed. They’re white and poor quality, just like everything else in my holding cell.

The doorknob turns. It’s her, she comes every day at the same time. Ariel. My head turns of its own accord so that I can look at her, drink her in. She’s beautiful, the only bit of beauty I am allowed. Raven hair, eyes bluer than blue, her willowy limbs—this girl does not belong here. She is too pretty, too soft, too kind to be in the service of ones so evil.

“Hello, John,” she says. “I’ve got your lunch here.”

I blink. “Ariel, Ariel, I don’t want lunch. Please, let me free, and I can save you, I’ll save us all from them—”

She smiles knowingly. “There’s pudding, though. Chocolate pudding.” Ariel sets the tray on my lap, her slender fingers brushing my legs as she releases it.

Anger rises in me. How can she smile at me, this temptress? How can she taunt me? “I don’t care,” I snap. “I don’t want food, I’ve told you endless times, woman. I want you to free me from this hellhole, as it seems that I cannot free myself.” I strain at the bonds on my wrists, tying me to the bed.

Ariel takes a step back, towards the door. Is she afraid? She looks afraid.

“Let me go,” I demand, my emotions soaring. I haven’t felt this much in weeks. It’s exhilarating, but it feels as though I cannot stop it. “Let me go! And if you won’t, you—you—” I am at a loss for words; I do not know what to call someone like her. “At least get on with what all of you want me for! COME ON!” I scream, knowing that they are watching inside their little cameras. “BEAT ME, HIT ME, MAKE ME BLEED! I’LL KILL YOU, I’LL KILL YOU ALL! I WILL HAVE JUSTICE!”

Things are tumbling and I cannot breathe, I cannot see through this haze of red. I roar wordlessly, my need for retribution too great to be told.

The door flies open. Are they here for me? Good. I’m ready. They touch me and I’ll kill them, I’ll kill them and I will finally have made morality prevail. “Agnes!” says a man, worriedly. He has reason to be worried, but not for her. “Agnes, come on, get out of here, now!” She stumbles away, bent and limping like an old woman.

“ARIEL!” I cry, wanting her to be good, to find the right path. I feel my biceps tighten as I pull against my bindings. “ARIEL, DO WHAT’S RIGHT! YOU KNOW WHAT’S RIGHT!” My tray of food tumbles from its perch and crashes onto the floor. If only I had my combat knives, I could free myself, I could take on them all, I could vanquish this evil once and for all.

People are yelling over me, something about checking on someone named Agnes and that someone is crazy and why haven’t we transferred the John Doe to the security unit, and then I hear one distinct voice: “Mattias, sedate him! Sedate him!” An animal cry, I cannot stand the darkness; The Reacher will be victorious, The Reacher will always be victorious. I am suddenly aware of the needle in my arm, always in my arm, and there’s a cold seeping in.

No. I can’t go under, not again. All I want is to protect people, people like Ariel, and I cannot do that when people, people like them, fight so strongly against me. As hard as I push back, I know that the cold will take me like it always does.

I am The Reacher and they call me crazy—but it seems like I’m the only one that can still see.

I go under.


© 2020 Polarity Technologies

Invite Next Author

Write a short message (optional)

or via Email

Enter Quibblo Username


Report This Content