Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 317

This week's picture prompt was created by French digital artist Cyril Rolando. They call this one We are dancing in chains. They have made some incredible pieces and clearly their works speaks to me because I have used a few on Mid-Week Flash before: Week 283, Week 278 and Week85.

Finally got round to writing this piece that's been stuck in my head. It's a dark one. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here. 

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Emancipation

There was thatsound again and he was gone, triggered back into a time he had worked so hardto put behind him. But suddenly he could see that room again and smell therancid sweat, not just of the visitor but of his own fear. And he could feelthem – the chains, on his ankles and on his wrists, holding him, keeping himthere, keeping him submissive, keeping him as their play thing.

He was frozen to the spot. He worked totake a breath and remind himself it was over, it would never happen again. But evenafter all this time (he’d be celebrating ten years next month) the sound ofchains did this to him. It didn’t matter where they were – today was theharbour – or why – they were hauling in an anchor – it didn’t fail to paralysehim, stopping him dead in his tracks.

He felt his mind switch over into automaticpilot. He managed to continue walking back to his car, and get in and driveback to the office. It was like he was watching himself as he made all thecorrect motions on the way back, while his mind tried to stop him from fallinginto the pit of darkness that would shut him down mentally for days or evenweeks. At the office he made all the correct sounds and expressions for peopleto believe he was fine, but once alone behind his desk he knew there was oneperson he had to speak to; the one person who could help him get a handle onthis flashback.

“Hey, Giles, it’s not like you to call meduring the day, is everything okay?”

She knew, she always knew.

“No, not really. I had to go down to thedocks and watch something being loaded, and it happened …”

“What happened?”

“Chains on concrete.”

“Oh shit. Do you want me to come over?”

“I’m still at work.”

“I can meet you after if you like?”

“I just needed to tell someone whounderstood. I just needed to say it out loud.”

“I understand. Sounds are the hardest part –and smells.”

“Yeah. It’s like I could smell it again,though it was just in my mind.”

“I’ll meet you after work, we’ll have dinner.It will break the cycle of the reaction.”

“Good idea.”

“When’s your next therapy session?”

“Next week.”

“Not too far away then.”

“No. Hopefully I can report on how Iprocessed it.”

“You already are processing it by callingme.”

“True. Thank you Shaunna.”

“I’m just happy you called. I’ll see you outsideat six, okay?”

“See you then.”

“Bye.”

Giles put the phone down. He felt like hewas coming back to himself again. He felt like he could focus on what was infront of him on his desk. He’d managed to switch off the autopilot.

He didn’t know what he would do without thesupport of another who had been put through the same. Someone who knew thehorror of being sold as a child, and used and abused for years. Some days hehated that they had survived to live with the memories, but most days he wasjust grateful to be free.