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Creative Writing Piece - Catharsis | Part 2

Updated on April 4, 2014

Introduction

This is the second part to a creative writing piece based around the idea of catharsis. If you haven't read part one, click here.

Enjoy.

Catharsis | Part 2

The morning of the Catharsis dawns and at school George is far easier to pin down. He launches straight into his plan. George has obviously given this some deep thought and is determined to uncover whatever corruption is present in the government. He now has a strong motive. To me, it seems a somewhat ambitious plan but it could work. He is adamant that I should be involved, but it means participating in the Catharsis, the prospect of which petrifies me. This is madness. How can we, a group of teenagers, take on such powerful individuals? I think of George’s mother and I remember mine. I have to do this.

My concentration in class is non-existent. Fortunately school finishes at one o’clock, giving students ample time to travel home safely. I dawdle home, contemplating what lies ahead. I know Dad won’t approve of me going out after the Catharsis begins, but I must. As it is, it’s not like he will actually be home to check up on me. I notice most houses boarding up. It seems that the majority of the population does not participate in the Catharsis and choose to instead hole up and hope for the best.

I am surprised to see Dad’s car in the driveway. He is obviously making sure I will be safe for the night. As I enter the hallway, his head appears.

“Hullo there,” he says jovially. I don’t know how he can be like this, especially given what I am certain he is going to do later tonight once the Catharsis begins. I feel nauseous just looking at him.

“Hey!” I put on a weak smile and pretend to look tired. He asks about my day and what I will do for entertainment during the evening. I lie and tell him I will be doing Chemistry and watching movies. When it comes to protection from the Catharsis, we are fairly relaxed as Dad is high up enough in the government to be exempt.

After more awkward small talk, I head for my room where I begin my preparations. I pack a bag with all that I think I will need, hide it in the bottom of the wardrobe and open my Chemistry books to at least look as if I’m doing work. Sometime later, I hear the creaking of the old stairs as Dad scales them and I pretend to be engrossed by a paragraph outlining corrosion.

“I’m off now,” he says, his head poking around the door. I look back at him with yet another weak smile and hope I’m wrong about the documents.

“Yeah, see ya later Dad.” As I say this, he strides further into the room, obviously searching for a hug, which I hesitantly give him. Smiling at me one last time, he leaves the room and closes the door quietly behind him. His displays of affection serve only to confuse me further. My emotions are in a spin. I wait to hear the car disappear before retrieving my bag. I rush out of the house, locking the front door behind me. I am eager to get to George’s before seven.

It is 6:45 and I arrive at George’s house with fifteen minutes to spare. The streets are deserted apart from a few people doing last minute preparations in their front gardens. Another kid I know from school opens the door and ushers me inside, leading me towards the living room where eight people, including George, stand.

I feel somewhat of an outsider but they include me in the decision making and explain the whole affair to its full extent. The appointed time for the action is eight o’clock, as the Catharsis will still be in its early stages and this will mean fewer people on the streets and less danger.

The Chaos Symbol
The Chaos Symbol | Source

We make the decision to leave and head straight for the government buildings. No one will be there during the Catharsis and it is the members of the government that are protected, not the place itself. We keep as low key as possible and do not experience any trouble along the way. Most who participate in the Catharsis have a specific reason, or a person they wish to target. Rarely are there people who are out just to rampage and kill. The gate surrounding the whole complex we knew would be a challenge. Two of the guys had brought various metal cutting tools, one of which should be able to grant us entry into the compound. After fifteen minutes, we manage to create a hole big enough to fit through. We walk with determination towards the main door, made of mainly glass. George strides straight up to it and swings a crowbar with some force, smashing the whole door. Without hesitation, he carefully steps through the hole in the door.

At this point we split up and cover different sections of the building. Everyone is keen to get in and out as quickly as possible. The sooner I am back in my warm and safe home, the better. I ask if i could cover the section I know my father works in; Section B. I had been here many times before in my younger years, waiting for Dad after school or spending the day with him when Mum was busy. I separate from the group and head for the flight of stairs which will take me to the second level. I figure the best plan of action is to work down the corridor, office after office to see what I could find. The first few turn up nothing interesting, merely some administrative documents and various personal items. The next office belongs to the director of Section B. Surely there will be something good in here. I begin rummaging through his desk drawers, eager to return to the rest of the group. It is not until I reach the third drawer that I find something interesting. In a vain attempt to hide them, a set of keys is right in the back of the drawer. Looking around the room I see the only possibility, a heavy duty filing cabinet in the corner. I walk over to it and insert the key, fumbling at first. I slide the cabinet open and begin flicking through the documents. I recognize names on folders and pull out several to show to the group. Many of the names on these documents are people who have disappeared in past Catharsis’ and others, who I assume, will be targets in the future. In my pocket, my phone suddenly starts vibrating; it’s George. I answer immediately, feeling apprehensive.

“Some guys with guns just arrived. Get out of there! Meet back at the park!” He is flustered, I can tell. He hangs up before I can get a word in, leaving me dazed. I am near the end of the files, so I hurry to get through them all. Then, I see a name, a name I thought I would never see in here Margaret Jones, my mother.

My head is reeling; my fear is realized. I can’t believe this is how my mother died. The thud of footsteps in the stairwell reminds me of the armed men in the building. I guess that if they are going to go anywhere they will go into this office, the office of the most important person in Section B. I figure I have enough time to run across the corridor into the office opposite or I could hide here and hope for the best. I knew it would be the more dangerous option of the two. I grab the pile of documents and dart out the door, sprinting to the other side of the narrow corridor. Fortunately the door is open so I rush inside and cower under a desk. My heart sinks as I hit my head, making a loud sound. I will be very surprised if that goes unnoticed.

I attempt to make myself smaller, hoping this will make it harder for them to find me. The men enter the room and I see black shoes slowly approaching the desk. They stop and I hear whispered orders from a familiar sounding voice. I begin to sweat in fear, knowing that in a matter of seconds I will be discovered. Simultaneously, two handguns are pointed in my face. I am petrified, unsure of the intentions of these men.

“It’s a teen,” the one on the left says, matter of factly.

“Hands!” the man on the right orders. I show them my hands and lack of weaponry and they motion for me to emerge from under the desk. What I see when I turn around to face the third man takes me completely off guard. The man staring at me from the other side of the desk is equally as shocked. It was my father.

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