Cold

Composite book-Keathen

"Get off of the ground boy!" I woke startled and short of breath, I looked at my surroundings,  I was laying on a dirty stone driveway, my head next to car wheel and the old man standing beside me. I rose to my feet in confusion. I spun around trying to find a building of some sort, but  all I could find was the car port I was standing in, and what looked like a house that had been swallowed by the hill.
"Well boy? Do you understand now why cars have seatbelts? Wear one from now on, or you'll find yourself in a worse situation then dumped onto the ground."
I understand now, I had fallen asleep on the door and they had opened it without waking me. Despite the fact that I want to tell these old farts off, I hold my tounge and instead give into my curiosity.
"Where the he-"  The old man looks at me with a gaze that makes me stutter.
"Uhh, where are we?" I'm not really sure how this old guy can get under my skin but he does. It's like he knows just how to intimidate me.
"Boy we are in Witt Springs Arkansas, thirty miles from the nearest town. Almost forty-five from the nearest town with more than twenty-five people. And very far away from anyone who cares for kids with attitudes like yours. Now you can try and run off, in fact your more than welcome to, but when you get tired and pass out on the side of the road, or are bitten by a copperhead, or God knows what else could happen to you here, don't expect anyone to find you."
Then he turns and begins to walk away, I follow. I could not see where the woman had gone. As we walk out from under the car port I see that there were stone steps leading down into the side of the house. The old man begins to descend them, and so I follow.
As he enters the door he turns to look at me.
"This is a very new place for you, in fact this is little under an entire new world to you. What you see around you right now will be your daylight surroundings until I decide otherwise. I recommend you learn to appriciate them, or at least get to know them."He reaches inside the door and pulls something off of a shelf. "Here, this is your journal."
I look at him like he has gone off of his rocker.
"I'm not going to ask that you become some great poet, or novelist. All that I require is that you make at least one entry per day, at least three sentences, proper grammar and spelling." His quiet demand  finalizes as he hands me a composite notebook, a pencil sitting on the cover. Realizing my defeat I grab the notebook and moved forward to advance into the house. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to get inside, it's hot out here!"
He laughs and shuts the screen door. "Didn't you hear me? This is where you will be spending your daylight hours."
I can't believe I'm hearing this. " What th-.. I'm suppo- ..You've got to be kidding me! Where am I supposed to sit? How am I supposed to survive out here? There are probably creatures out here that will eat me on site!"
He let out a small chuckle " Relax boy, there aren't any of those out here, or at least I've never encountered one, and I've lived here since I took my first breath."
My frustration is about to boil over. I throw the book down and begin to yell.
"I cannot believe anyone would do this! How did my Mom survive up here? what is your problem old man? This is child abuse I swear! I'm gonn-"
"What? You're gonna what?" He pauses and looks at me. "What?" He stares at me calmly, and waits until I'm almost about to yell again. "I'll tell you what your going to do. Your going to pick up that book and your going to find somewhere to sit and your going to write, and when the sun goes down your going to come right back to this porch and wait for me to let you in. That is what your going to do." With that he shuts the door and leaves me standing there alone.
I stare at what surrounds me, lush full plants of all sorts, beautiful and bright. I can hear small creatures of unknown kinds rustling through the underbrush. Something moves a little too close to my foot and I jump away from it. I look around wildly for somewhere safe to go. I notice once again the nearly ground level roof of the house. In a sudden scramble I climb onto it and scurry to the peak. The composite book still lies in my hand, frustrating and ugly. I throw it down beside me and listen as the smack it makes against the tin roof echos through the trees. The pencil appears to have made it through my dash to the roof, tucked neatly in the middle of the book.
Understanding that there is no real way out of this I pull out the pencil and flip to the front of the book. But then my mind hums to life, what would aggrivate the old man? What could annoy him enough to give me satisfaction. I flip to the back of the book and begin to write.
'                                                                                                    June 13th 1999
Myself,
Here I am now.....