Read Online The Yellowstone Conundrum by John Randall - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Randall
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ground. The girls screamed and urged the boys on. They went down two hallways, then up a flight of stairs, and down another hallway. Snap-snap-clank went the book locker lock.
“Hurry up!” one of the football players urged.
“Shut up!” replied another.
“Do it!” urged one of the good-looking girls.
Andy heard a locker being emptied by brute force, imagining books, notes, unwashed gym clothes, a semester’s worth of fruit drink cartons, a book bag, maybe an old iPod being scattered across the hallway floor.
“Get that crap!“ shouted one of the boys. “You could help,” he barked to the girls.
They could, but they were ninth-grade girls; bigger than average titties, short skirts and they all wanted to get naked with seniors. The girls were about to pee in their panties.
Ummmph. Andy felt his face slammed into the back of the metal locker, his tongue tasted the residue of gym clothes. A metal ear-shaped hanger jammed the left side of his face.
“Stuff it!” shouted one of the boys.
“Let’s get out of here before someone comes!” squealed one of the above average titties.
“Get him in there!” said one of the boys as they stuffed his legs in behind his torso, twisting his knee as they did so. The door slammed behind him. In his subconscious Andy heard them run back down the hallway, tittering and laughing. In the distance a door closed.
He’d been stuffed into a second floor locker, probably outside of 11 th grade English on the last day before Christmas break. Immediately, he started to struggle to free an arm; but, he was jammed, his arms behind him, encased in a two-foot by two-foot by five-foot locker. He was bent over, face against the back of the locker, his head hard against the upper storage area of the locker, his arms stuffed wall-to-wall. His fingers were free behind him, but there was nothing else he could move.
The noise in the hallway was gone, silly stuff clattering down the steps to the first floor.
Andy’s chest heaved with the exertion; in-out-in-out, in-and-out, heavy breathing.
Oh God I’m trapped I can’t get out I’m in a coffin please let me out.
His legs had never cramped before in his 15 years but both calf muscles ripped at the same time, sending two shots of pain through his body, enough to make him cry out loud, a long low angry cry. Holding his breath the pain rippled through him please stop please stop please stop; then gradually his calf muscles began to relax, to a point where it only felt like someone was poking him with a hot stick in both legs.
Then anger, twisting and turning, he began to rock in violent motions inside the confined space. He could feel the entire row of locker move slightly. Dude, no! You’ll pull the whole set down onto the floor, then the door will be on the floor and no air can get inside. Relax. Try to relax.
But, he couldn’t. His breath came in spurts. He was about to pass out. The confinement hurt his every muscle. A second long cry, this time less in anger but more in abject horror of what would happen to him. He felt the walls of the locker getting tighter, like he was the trash in a compactor.
“Let me out let me out let me out help help heeeeellllpppppppp!” his cry now a sob.
How long would it be before someone would come? Would the titties come back?
Andy’s tears of anger changed to tears of desperation, his voice croaking out please help me please help me please help me.
Mercifully, Andy passed out.
Eighteen hours later LeRoy Atkins, maintenance custodian, was polishing the second floor hallway; guiding the large polisher back and forth in a practiced sweep, one to guarantee an even finish to be proud of. The familiar white in-ear-headphones dangled to the iPod in his pocket; the selection of music made any day a better day. Fifty-eight years old and balding, LeRoy rocked with his polisher like he was jamming on Saturday night.
“Hurry up!” one of the football players urged.
“Shut up!” replied another.
“Do it!” urged one of the good-looking girls.
Andy heard a locker being emptied by brute force, imagining books, notes, unwashed gym clothes, a semester’s worth of fruit drink cartons, a book bag, maybe an old iPod being scattered across the hallway floor.
“Get that crap!“ shouted one of the boys. “You could help,” he barked to the girls.
They could, but they were ninth-grade girls; bigger than average titties, short skirts and they all wanted to get naked with seniors. The girls were about to pee in their panties.
Ummmph. Andy felt his face slammed into the back of the metal locker, his tongue tasted the residue of gym clothes. A metal ear-shaped hanger jammed the left side of his face.
“Stuff it!” shouted one of the boys.
“Let’s get out of here before someone comes!” squealed one of the above average titties.
“Get him in there!” said one of the boys as they stuffed his legs in behind his torso, twisting his knee as they did so. The door slammed behind him. In his subconscious Andy heard them run back down the hallway, tittering and laughing. In the distance a door closed.
He’d been stuffed into a second floor locker, probably outside of 11 th grade English on the last day before Christmas break. Immediately, he started to struggle to free an arm; but, he was jammed, his arms behind him, encased in a two-foot by two-foot by five-foot locker. He was bent over, face against the back of the locker, his head hard against the upper storage area of the locker, his arms stuffed wall-to-wall. His fingers were free behind him, but there was nothing else he could move.
The noise in the hallway was gone, silly stuff clattering down the steps to the first floor.
Andy’s chest heaved with the exertion; in-out-in-out, in-and-out, heavy breathing.
Oh God I’m trapped I can’t get out I’m in a coffin please let me out.
His legs had never cramped before in his 15 years but both calf muscles ripped at the same time, sending two shots of pain through his body, enough to make him cry out loud, a long low angry cry. Holding his breath the pain rippled through him please stop please stop please stop; then gradually his calf muscles began to relax, to a point where it only felt like someone was poking him with a hot stick in both legs.
Then anger, twisting and turning, he began to rock in violent motions inside the confined space. He could feel the entire row of locker move slightly. Dude, no! You’ll pull the whole set down onto the floor, then the door will be on the floor and no air can get inside. Relax. Try to relax.
But, he couldn’t. His breath came in spurts. He was about to pass out. The confinement hurt his every muscle. A second long cry, this time less in anger but more in abject horror of what would happen to him. He felt the walls of the locker getting tighter, like he was the trash in a compactor.
“Let me out let me out let me out help help heeeeellllpppppppp!” his cry now a sob.
How long would it be before someone would come? Would the titties come back?
Andy’s tears of anger changed to tears of desperation, his voice croaking out please help me please help me please help me.
Mercifully, Andy passed out.
Eighteen hours later LeRoy Atkins, maintenance custodian, was polishing the second floor hallway; guiding the large polisher back and forth in a practiced sweep, one to guarantee an even finish to be proud of. The familiar white in-ear-headphones dangled to the iPod in his pocket; the selection of music made any day a better day. Fifty-eight years old and balding, LeRoy rocked with his polisher like he was jamming on Saturday night.
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