This is the continued story of Simon’s Journal.
Before you begin this third volume in this series,
I would highly recommend that you read the first and second volumes
as each picks up were the previous left off.
Simon’s Journal -
Volume I
Thirteen Days – The First Crusade
Thirteen
Nights – After the Crusade
ADMONITION:
The
following narrative is nearly a complete work of fiction. Some events and
characters were pulled from real life but have been changed, enhanced and
twisted to comply with my will. Any other similarity to actual individuals
living or dead is completely unintentional, but it would be incredible!
WARNING:
The
following story contains diaper use, violence, adult language and strong sexual
content. If reading a coming of age story about boys wearing diapers and
exploring their awakening sexuality doesn’t tickle your pickle, or if pickle
tickling is illegal in your area, then I suggest you select something else to
read.
Simon's Journal
Volume III
Thirteen
Sails
Adventures Abound
Written by Danny
And
so life goes
Before long everyone was tired however unlike
before when we’d all come down together each of us seemed to sort of stagger
away until there was only Micky, Lowell and myself left. The three of us
continued to talk until well into the early morning hours. Our conversions jumped
from the serious to the humorous back to serious and so on. However, eventually
even the three of us knew that we had best get to bed; morning would be coming
before we knew it. And so went each night for a while; though most nights we
didn’t dare stay up so late.
The days were a different story. Though
several boys, who’s names I didn’t know, were sent off to the plastic factory
each day none of my bunkmates were sent out of the Banachelli again; at least
not while the Wriggles were in charge.
Something just popped into my head, a
question someone asked me and I think I am finally ready to answer it. When I
had been back home for a while my head-shrink doctor
asked me, “Why didn’t you try to escape again?”
At the time I didn’t have an answer for her;
well I had one but I wasn’t willing to share it with her. The answer in its
simplest form can be offered with a single word, FEAR! I don’t mean fear like being scared of the Wriggles or
Madam-M; but don’t get me wrong, I was plenty scared of them however my biggest
fear—the fear that kept me on the boat for so long was a fear planted in my
head by none other than Lowell. One afternoon as the two of us were washing
dirty—smelly—poop encrusted diapers, actually he was washing and I was hanging
them to dry, he popped out a simple question. “Do you think you’ll get in
trouble with the police when you get home for what happened with Harpo?”
I didn’t answer him then but unbeknown to
him, he had planted a seed of fear in my mind and it grew into an
uncontrollable weed of doubt and fear with roots growing down and getting tangled
around my heart. A while back I wrote about how Fyre was hiding out from his
past on the Banachelli; well he’s not the only one, ‘cause I was too.
I had plenty of chances to leave, to get away,
to escape but every time I thought about it panic would envelop me. Heck, there
was one time after the Wriggles were dead and Madam-M was in charge; she had
sent me along with Runt and one of the other boys to meet a truck that was
bringing more supplies to the Banachelli. I had been left alone in the van with
it running for nearly ten minutes. And yes, the thought crossed my mind to put into
action the driving skills Bull had taught. I had my right hand on the gear
shift knob, my left clutching the steering wheel and kept repeating over and
over, “Do it! Do it! Just do it!” But I couldn’t do it.
As I was saying before... the days and nights
passed; before long Lowell and I had fallen into the Banachelli routine. I’d
even managed to learn how to stay out of the Wriggles crosshairs—mostly. At
least I didn’t have to go back to that loathsome pit again but a few times I
got kicked, slapped and knocked around. I might add that only happened when Sister
Sarafina wasn’t around which was usually at meal times.
Having Sister Sarafina come to the Banachelli
was by far the best thing that could have happened to us boys. Aside from
Lowell and Vera, Sister Sarafina was the only other one I knew without
hesitation that I could trust.
If I remember right, it was two days after
Since Lowell and I had thought we were alone
in the hallway we were understandably shocked to hear someone else’s voice. At
first I hadn’t connected the accent; I had to wait until my heart started
pumping blood to my brain again before that would happen. Lowell and I jumped,
spun around and gasped in unison. When I realized that Lowell and I were
holding each others hand like a couple of frightened school girls I blushed and
jerked my hand away.
What we saw, and she would box my ears if she
heard me say this, was an approximately five foot tall penguin. That dork
In
I don’t think at the time that either of us
actually heard her question. We were so startled that even if he had heard her,
it didn’t register. With Lowell and I standing there with dripping shirts and soggy
diapers sagging down nearly to our knees from being worn and used all day she
smile, folded her hands, sighed and repeated her question. “Surely the two of
you weren’t planning on sitting down to eat looking like that were you?”
I didn’t get it and grunted, “Uhhh?”
The corner of her mouth twitched.
“Hey, you’re the one aren’t you?” I asked
realizing who I was seeing for the first time.
Her smile disappeared as she answered, “I am
what I am, no more, no less. Now,” she reached out and took hold our shoulders,
“Lets get you tidied up first shall we?”
“But if we’re late we’ll be in trouble!”
She didn’t reply but instead lead us right
back to where we’d just come from where she changed our diapers and made us
wash our faces, ears and necks. She was just finishing my diaper when she paused
to ask, “I haven’t seen the other boy that came here with you?”
“What other boy?” I asked puzzled who she might
be referring too.
I’ve come to learn that Sister Sarafina
doesn’t answer a lot of questions put to her. She gave me a look as though she
were trying to decide something about me. Even when I asked her again she
didn’t explain who she had meant. It wasn’t until I
learned that my brother was on board that he had been the one she was meaning.
As I got to my feet she did say this, “Soon
things will be changing around here. Mark my words!”
She ushered us back out and was taking us to
where we knew everyone was already eating.
She stopped, took a firm hold of
“My name is Sister Sarafina and don’t you go
forgetting it you hear me child?” I would have thought she was angry had she
not been ginning as she said it.
When
“Why you yelling at me? She’s the one that called you Marvin!” I
said making sure I put extra oomph into his middle name. I thought his eyes
were going to pop out of his head; boy he wasn’t happy at all. Of course you
know I took every opportunity I could to tease him about it.
When we arrived everyone was already eating
just as I expected. This was the only time I ever saw her in this room while we
were eating as she never, not even once, ate with us. Heck, I never saw her eat
anything ever. Normally being so late would have meant we would have got
nothing to eat but Sister Sarafina directed us to our seats at the table while
she walked over without saying a word, filled two bowls and then brought them
to us. She also brought us each a drink, a lump of bread and stood in the room
until we’d ate everything. That way the Wriggles
couldn’t take it away from us before we could finish.
From across the table I whispered a single
word to Lowell, “Marvin” and snickered behind my hand. He didn’t let his face
give away his dislike but he got his message through loud and clear when he
kicked my shin so hard I nearly choked on a mouthful of bread. It hurt so bad
that my eyes were watering and I had to stuff my bread into my mouth to keep
from crying out.
** As always, your thoughts matter to me
very, very much, so please send any comments, questions, suggestions, or
criticism to me at: [email protected] **