Hey peeps. Lo-ong time? 😀
Yet another English Language essay. 😀 And this is REALLY a story. 😀 😀
I was smack in the middle of a new town, but it wasn’t new at all.
Déjà vu. Cool thing. Happens in the movies. But there was no other word which could describe what was happening. I was in a town that I had most definitely never been in, but then again, I knew every stone in the road, every shop… some people too.
It was Dad’s hometown; he had left it thirty years ago and was only returning because his salary depended on it. After being /asked/ by his boss to go, he had decided to take me along. Me? How can any self respecting twenty year old be even found dead in a village where the only modern thing available was the town board?? I had fought tooth and nail, but eventually had to acquiesce.
Dad pisses me off sometimes. Sometimes, just his presence provokes jitters in me and I feel all weak kneed. Still, I do not have to see him very often, so that is that.
All through the trip I had sat in the corner and deliberately ignored what my Dad was saying. Strangely, he did not seem at all pleased to return too and chose to leave me to my own affairs after sometime.
When we passed by a bridge, he started. So did I. I knew that blade of grass. I had played ball with my girlfriends there, back so long… wait, what?? I was mortified of girls, had never been close to someone my own age. Certainly I had never played ball with girls. We were passing by a bridge now, and my dad whistled and said, ‘not changed a bit.’
I craned in my seat to look at the giant graffiti block on the side of the wall, and smiled when I saw it.
Was I going mad??
All through the town we journeyed, and my dad started chattering again. I blocked him out and concentrated on the flashes, glimpses of memory I was getting. That dirty tailors shop. The village ironsmith. The drunkard. Oh my God. This was crazy.
We quickly reached the hotel and as we asked for seats, there was a tell tale sigh from the manager, and the ‘I’m afraid Mr.….’
I sighed. Bloody con artists. ‘No room at all??’
He started nodding. ‘Well, there IS one room, 28, but… ‘Ignoring my dad, I interjected, ‘Excellent.’
‘But… but son….’
I started waving my hands. ‘I know, I know. Murder. Unsolved. Young girl. Thirty years ago. Blood red frock. Beer bottle. No one noticed the blood for days.’
I was greeted with silence. How did I know??
‘Bah, read it online somewhere, we don’t believe in this stuff, we’ll take the room.’
Come to think of it, I HAD read it online. Cracked.com. “Ten greatest unsolved mysteries”.
We quickly went and settled inside the room, and dad went and curled up somewhere. I sat on the sofa and tried to sleep, but to no avail. I was thinking too much. These thoughts were not leaving me, plaguing me to extremes. What was happening??
I rose up and read the letter on the mantelpiece again. Huh?? Then I took the letter and kissed it once, and curled it into a ball. What was this?? I threw the ball outside the window and turned towards the door. Why couldn’t I control myself?
And then, footsteps. Involuntarily, I gathered myself in fear. I was trembling, sweat pouring out from my skin, and yet I couldn’t understand why. A huge figure lurched inside the room.
I squeaked, ‘No. No. Please. David, please. Try to understand.’
The figure stepped into the light. Weirdly, I kind of felt I had seen him before. Fat surprise that. And then the figure raised a beer bottle and laughed.
I knew that laugh. I had seen the laugh a thousand times, on my mother’s cupboard. Her wedding photographs. This was… this was my dad.
He came and slurred out some words I couldn’t understand. Yet I squealed, ‘Please. Please. Please, David, PLEASE!!’
He takes another step and raises his beer bottle. I am crying now. Tears of desperation and confusion mix with each other. I cannot control myself. My hands will not answer. My legs are frozen. Only my brain whirrs around, thinking, always thinking.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the translucent window. I gasp at the blood red frock.
Hmmm…. its kinda weird, huh? XP