While Scott was getting around for supper then no doubt, to bed, Harry was still stuck in the basement as a cold, hard, immobile statue. Scott had his own problems he was beginning to discover and forgot about poor Harry stuck in the basement. Not that Scott knew his son was still fully conscious in there. Indeed, Scott thought he was complete stone, and as far as he knew, the boy was dead.
But Harry wasn't dead. He was all too painfully aware. As the minutes ticked by into another hour and Scott was looking at a ten year old version of Harry's face staring back at him from the bathroom mirror two floors above, the sky outside the small rectangular basement window was beginning to take on the hue of a late afternoon sunset. Harry was getting sick and bored of just standing there, smiling into the darkening cellar-turned-lab like a creep. His penis stuck at attention, still "turned on."
"There's gotta be a way to get out of this. There just HAS to be!" he was thinking. "But how? Its not like I can...just....move!"
He started trying to concentrate on moving his fingers. They remained completely stiff and locked in place, hanging casually at his sides. His toes, the same thing. He couldn't break his stupid smile. Could't even blink.
He tried again to move. To twitch even the tiniest of non-existent muscle. He kept trying. He had nothing better to do. But each time he tried with all of his willpower to just TWITCH anything, it began to sort of "hurt," in an inexplicable way. Anytime he tried moving a finger that refused to budge, that finger would "feel" somehow bothersome. Or a toe. Or even his cheeks. He would mentally panic each time he tried. It also would strangely turn him on. He wanted to reach for his private. It was constantly stiff. A feeling that an inexperienced 12 year old boy wouldn't quite be used to yet. He just knew he wanted to reach down and just grab it. To make that stiff boner go away. He didnt think of it as a "boner," for he never quite knew what it was. He just knew it felt stiff, and needed some attention.
This would go on for quite some time. How long, Harry would never know. He would just stand there, desparately trying to move. Never achieving his goal. Not even the tiniest bit. As time goes on, each time he tries moving, it would somehow register as a numbing pain in the body parts he tries to move. He does this for several hours, before his mind began to relax.
He never goes to sleep, for statues dont sleep. They dont need to sleep. He is still aware, but his mind begins to sorta feel "comfortable." Not "TOO" comfortable, for his boner feeling is ever-present. But he does begin to daydream. A powerful daydream. He thinks about his life outside the confines of his stoney prison that keeps him locked forever in place. His school. His friends. Playing outside. Riding his bike. Life was a grand adventure. An adventure that he is likely to miss out on.