12:11 pm, Saturday, October 13.
Dear Diary,
It's afternoon and I am sitting. Sitting still. Mother is picking some oranges from the garden. Mary is by my side. And I am bored. Dad is off to his usual meeting up by the lake.
I always insist on going up with him but he denies me that opportunity. I guess it's really important work, otherwise I won't be seeing the fine lines having a fine time on his forehead. Anyways, I am bored. I usually am during afternoons. So, I divert my mind towards writing. And great news!
My story is coming up pretty good. In it-
> The girl goes to a party with her friends and they are having a blast, until of course the power gets cut and one by one, every girl disappears. The character wakes up in a dungeon, and she is hearing footsteps, sharp and loud coming her way.....
Good, ain't it?
Well, mother thinks otherwise. "This won't put food on the table, honey! "
I hate that woman.
It's always been like this...
I never did see a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Ever....
Since the start of time. Cold, lifeless. Sometimes, I do wonder, 'Does she even lament her crushed legacy brought by the death of her progeny?', 'Does she even cry at night behind pillows?'
But it's okay, right? Mary's with me at least.
None of that, however, addresses the elephant we have been so eloquently hiding behind these pages. And I am tired of it.
Let's cut to the chase. The real reason I am sitting here is because I couldn't sleep and my mother is scared shitless. Trust me, I know that as a daughter. I know how to read a dead mother's face. Especially when it's fired up. She is rushing in and out of the house. She believes her 'tonic' made out of orange peels will soothe my mind. Quite a strange way for an educated woman to react.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
All the unspeakable things witnessed, felt and forgotten last night, are coming back slowly, whispering in my ears. At first it feels surreal, as if the voice of angels has come to summon me, but the sudden and swift jerk that accompanies such said voices put me down to my misery as quickly as it lifts me up.
My mind is playing games with me.
God I need a rest...
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4:00 pm
Evening
The last rays of sun touch the curtains as my mother walks towards them, putting them to sleep, cutting off the light to this place. My mind is still dizzy. Nausea has had its course twice till now. I am in a bleeding dream, narrowing my vision. My focus is fidgety. Mary is gone. I can't find her. All is see is a blurred world, dark. The connect between this realm and the one outdoors is bridged by a sound quite foreign. Crickets.
Buzzing quietly here. There. And here.....Everywhere.
I am thinking something but I can't fathom what. I am holding something, but I cannot know what. I am seeing something, but I don't know wh.....wait....
That's my father's car. I see a shadowy form emerging from it and flowing towards me. We make contact with eyes. The shadow towers me with its muscular, tall form, dressed in a woodsman special and trousers. It speaks, and the earth trembles beneath me, "Honey, honey, are you listening?"
> Honey...............................................................................................................
>
> HOney...............................................................
>
> ................HONEY.................
>
> !!!!OHYNE!!!!
(Snap)
"Honey, are you okay? It looks like you are asleep again with your eyes open....come on. We have an invitation. Get ready."
It was Father standing in front of me. I don't know what happened. Something has gone wrong with me. I look around but everything has gone back to normal. Mary is by my side, concerned. The diary is wide open with the full account written on it, in an unrecognizable handwriting. There is a bowl with sucked up orange peels in it and flies are flying over them. Cautiously. The garden is quiet, with the mountain wind blowing over it. And of course, daddy is standing in front, expecting me to behave.
And so I do. I get up, rush to my room and get dressed in a partywear. And top it off with a hat. I look around my room to see if anything needs my attention, and then move towards the door. But....
I take a step back, turn around, retrace to the other side of the room, and close the windows. Shut tight. You know why.
I come down, Mary is sitting still. She looks uneasy. Perhaps she doesn't wanna go. But dad insists, with or without Mary. So, I take her with me. And my dear diary.
"But where is mother?", I ask my dad.
"She's already there, arranging the feast with her friends."
"But what's this party about?", I continue my line of inquiry.
"Someone's getting promoted. And we should be there to celebrate."
"Who?", I ask.
"You'll see."
So will I see, and so will you. I don't know it yet, but do you?
Am I marching to my own rhythm? Or is there a crescendo hidden underneath, awaiting the conductor's call.
"You'll see."