Greed is a motive that makes one do terrible things. For so long I have seen good people be twisted by this darkness. The horrors I have witnessed happening within these very rooms that I haunt have left me drowning in the bittersweet memory of my innocent days. Yes, dear readers, though I have spent many nights haunting these long hallways…
[-Well, the floor actually has an open floor plan…
-I’m sorry who’s the narrator here? And besides “haunting this open floor plan” doesn’t have the same zest to it so there. Now where was I? Oh RIGHT]
Though I have spent many nights haunting these long hallways, there are demons that haunt me even in my peaceful afterlife. Let me go back to the day my innocence shattered before my very eyes. [And my nose had to have bleach forced down it to cleanse it but we’ll get to that]
After getting bored with drifting up and down the elevator shaft to amuse myself (I recommend you not to judge me. There is only so much a ghost of my caliber can do to entertain themselves), I ventured back to the first floor. The first space I came across was of course the dining space directly in the center of the floor. It was an open circular space slightly elevated to distinguish it from the rest of floor space. To the right of it was the pathway that led to the formal lounge. [Yes, very fancy. Apparently one living room is not enough for a family anymore. Back in my days, there used to be courtyards and charpais, lovely Neem trees, zero privacy between families, the good stuff. Where has this new generation gone wrong? But anyways…]
The lounge space was a pleasant combination of modern and cozy. There were tall shelves lined with books and DVDs and a set of matching sofa set (of a colour that reminded me of the creamy layer that forms on tea) and other modern technologies I keep forgetting the name of, T.B or something. A set of staircases lead to the above seating area on the second floor that was next to the opening balcony space giving you a lovely (or traumatizing. Depends on perspective, I supposed) view to the open kitchen or, in the context of this story, the scene of the crime.
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So there it was, the dining area with the solid wooden dining table surrounded by plants that gave it an atmosphere of being outside in a garden rather than indoors, and just beyond that was the open kitchen. A counter top was situated at the front with a series of tall chairs, though why anyone would want to be scarred with the abomination these people create is beyond me. You must be wondering then why I, a respectable ghost just going through my afterlife, would go near a space like that when I knew better. Well, dear readers, I was simply deceived and tempted by the sweet and fruity aroma of mangoes. [I may be dead but let’s be true to ourselves, the love of mangoes is a temptation we all possess here in this country although I will only judge you slightly if you do not agree but moving on with my tale of woe.] Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn in towards my demise and like a fool my curiosity got the better of me as I saw the man cutting up the juicy fruit. What happened next was a shameful crime. I watched in muted horror as the young man placed the slices of mango atop a bed of tomato sauce and dough (a foreign culinary invention called the piazza or something) and place it into the oven. There was no remorse on his face. In fact, the man seemed intrigued and excited for the abomination he had created. After a while in which I stood frozen and contemplated if maybe this was Hell after all, the abomination was apparently done cooking and the insane chef brought out his creation and set it on the counter. I do not lie nor do I exaggerate when I say that in that moment I prayed to God to take away my senses. The fruity smell mixed with the savoury spices and the yellow vibrancy of the heavenly fruit was mutated into something else altogether. How, I wondered, could such unholy creation sit so innocently on the granite stone countertop?
Suffice to say, that was the day I lost all hope in the future, both culinary and otherwise, of this generation and the ones beyond. Although I did feel slightly better when the rest of the family proceeded to criticize and reprimand the man, especially his mother who thankfully has exceptional taste and is currently my favourite person in this family apart from the little girl who leaves me sweets sometimes but that is a story for another time.