Happy reading!

Warning: Disorganization of thoughts, probably. Having a bit of a headache as I wrote this. There may be a plot if you look carefully enough. Or else, just take this at face value and think of it as mindless ranting.

Thoughts

by: sRoze

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I heard you sound the car horn. Through the sliding door glass and the hazy screen of rain I saw you gesturing to the closed gate. An impatient frown wrinkled my forehead. I was trying to write, and you had to interrupt my train of thoughts just when inspirations were starting to roll.

Muttering under my breath, I reached into the storeroom and grabbed two umbrellas. A clap of thunder shuddered the windowpanes. I snatched the house keys and forcefully stuck the right one into the door lock. The dog paced to and fro, agitated by the heavy rainstorm.

You pointed at the gate again, and I realized you wanted me to open them so you could drive into the porch. I gestured back. Don’t park inside. There’s an umbrella at the back seat. Use it.

You looked away. Deliberately or not, I do not know. I cursed inaudibly and lay aside one of the umbrellas. Throwing the other umbrella open, I ventured into the downpour. The wind was strong and sent slanted sleets of rain on me. The shelter the umbrella provided wasn’t enough. Already, the lower half of my body was drenched.

I fumbled with the keys for the gate lock, aware of the chilly wind caressing my exposed legs. The lock snapped open, and I lifted the latch, swinging the gates outward. I jogged back to the porch, trying to get the dog to stay at a corner. I ran my fingers on the laundry hanging on the clothesline. They were still damp.

You drove in. I noticed the car’s front bumper was about to knock a flowerpot. Lifting an open palm at your direction, I mouthed a “stop”. You continued to move forward. Angrily, I banged the car hood. You stopped suddenly and killed the engine. I didn’t greet nor say anything as I walked past you into the torrent again.

I quickly pulled both gates and bolted them together. Absently I rushed back into the house, only to realize I had left the keys hanging in the lock. A furrow creased my brows. The rain poured harder. Reflective of my increasing annoyance, maybe. I grudgingly picked up the wet umbrella and went out again.

Juggling the umbrella between my tilted head and shoulder I tried to lock the gates. The umbrella slipped a little, and water soaked my shirt. The frown deepened. After a while I finally pulled the keys out and headed back to shelter, the wet sleeves of my top clinging loosely onto my skin.

I locked the grill gate, and threw the keys on a nearby surface. The contact of metal against glass sounded sharp amid the dull drumming of raindrops. You were in the kitchen pouring yourself a hot drink. I stalked over to the washbasin to rinse my hands.

You didn’t have to park inside.

The rain was heavy. I can’t get wet.

Oh? So I can get wet then?

Without throwing you a glimpse I moved towards the computer, eager to get back to my writing. However, I had already lost my muse. I engaged in a staring match with the blank Microsoft canvas, trying to regain the line of concentration that possessed me before you interrupted.

You seemed oblivious to the hostile vibes emitting from me. Then again, the art of subtlety had long been perfected with practice. With the corners of my eyes I saw you place a pink plastic bag on top of the dining table. You pulled a chair out noisily and sat, a steaming mug in hand. You then reached for the bag and attempted to pull something out of it.

The rustling of plastic grated my nerves. I frowned instantly, almost unconsciously. The frowns seem perpetual whenever your presence is near. It was an old habit, keeping my irritation in check with a slight downward curve of my brows. You never notice them. Or if you had, you made no indication.

I bought you something to eat. You haven’t had lunch yet, right? Are you hungry?

No.

The computer won. I tore away from the screen, and looked down on my fingers still poised over the keyboard.

Surely you’re hungry! Just grab something to eat, okay?

Those fingers stiffened.

No.

Why not?

Because I don’t want to.

You coughed softly. I pretended not to hear it.

Hmm? Just eat a little, okay?

I don’t want to.

Why?

I closed my eyes. I knew where this was going to head.

Because I don’t want to!

Then what do you want?

I hate it. I hate it every time you drift into a dreamy state where you keep repeating your last sentence softly. It’s as if you utter those words just to fill in the silence between us.

I don’t want to eat.

What do you want?

I gritted my teeth and kept quiet.

What do you want?

Persistence is a good quality. Extreme persistence that brinks on stubbornness is plain irksome.

What do you want then? Hmm?

A nerve twitched visibly.

You’re not hungry? Then what do you want?

“I said, I don’t want to eat!”

What do you want? I scoffed inwardly. What I want and what you can give is an entirely different story. I want a certain woman’s tears to stop staining the pillow. I want a sense of security. I want a happy, healthy family.

Can you give me all that?

You can’t. And because of that, you can, will never receive an honest answer to that pointless question.

Silence hung in the air as the storm battled on outside. Nothing stirred in my mind, still. You stood, picked up the now-empty cup and headed back to the kitchen. I heard the water from the tap gushing out. I closed my eyes.

Few moments later, the sound of porcelain knocking on porcelain rang clear. You stepped out. I could read your aura beneath hooded lids. There was a tangible feeling of age and tiredness radiating from within. It contrasted directly with my own uptight, almost volatile mood.

You walked up the stairs. I listened as your slow footsteps faltered, and then inhaled deeply. The tension in the air seemed to disperse with your disappearing presence. I suddenly felt lethargic, all traces of mental activity evaporated. I slumped back into the comfortable chair. An inaudible sigh escaped me.

When did it all happen?

It hadn’t always been this way. The deep irritation I felt for you was almost unnatural. Those feelings were sometimes so intense, they bordered on hatred. So many times I’ve looked at you with cold glaring eyes. You never meet my hardened gaze, and I thought you were a coward.

But, it hadn’t always been this way.

When did it all happen?

It was three nights after my fourteenth birthday. It was the night where the world as I knew came crumbling down on me. It was the night my sense of security was robbed away cruelly from me. When my childhood officially ended, and I was forced to grow up overnight. It was the night where the fiends and the shadows of the night began to claim and consume me.

Simply put, it was also the night when you lost my respect and trust.

I was strong. I had kind spirits around to help me. I eventually won the battle against my own demons, and emerged from the ordeal scathed but all the more wiser.

Still, itnever really did go away. Even after so long, forgiveness was elusive. I could understand the reasons why, but it doesn’t mean I could forgive easily.

It isn’t easy to forgive someone who had stolen so much from me.

You forced me to grow up in a pace faster than what I was comfortable with. You jolted me out of sweet, innocent childhood and placed me in the darker world of deceit, lies and betrayals. Most of all, you made her cry. You caused her so much misery. You were the source of her constant suffering.

And you did nothing to alleviate the pain. You may have tried, but it was not enough for me. Many times, in the stillness of the afternoon I would catch her staring unseeingly into the distance, her face etched in thoughtfulness. In the dead of the night, in place of the demonic whispers I used to hear, there were those stifled sobs.

I flinched involuntarily as I heard your hacking coughs from upstairs. I knew you were feeling unwell. The many colored bottles on the kitchen counter were evidence. A voice at the back of my mind gnawed at me. You’re sick, so obviously getting soaked in the rain is no way to heal.

I knew that of course. I just ignored it. Everything about you aggravated me. Everything you do provoked me, no matter how perfectly logical your actions were. In my tiny heart there lies a black pool of abhorrence for you, so deep that I sometimes wonder how possible it is for a young girl like me to harbor such hatred.

A low growl rumbled. I pressed my tummy, my dark thoughts dissipating. Breakfast was five hours ago. I stood and headed to the kitchen cupboard. Packets of instant noodles lined the shelves. There were tins of mushroom soup, but I wasn’t up to cooking anything.

I sighed. Biscuits it is again, then. I grabbed a nearby container, spun and lifted the cover, took a couple of cream crackers, closed it, and placed it carefully at its original position. Lately, lunch had been a simple affair. I was too caught up with my writing to prepare a proper meal. It was unhealthy, I knew, but something in me didn’t really care.

Still, those square tiny crackers didn’t do much to satiate the hunger. I was being unusually hungry. Rediscovering my inner muse and getting inspirations some time ago brought on the appetite.

Strolling out into the dining room, I paused. The pink plastic bag was still sitting on the marble tabletop.

I bought you something to eat.

Curiosity, as well as mild famine, prompted me to peer into it. There was a white, rectangular polystyrene box. I pulled it out and snapped open.

It was a simple meal of chicken rice. I stared at it for a moment. Then, soundlessly I went back to the kitchen to get a microwave-able plate. After heating the rice up I laid it down on the dining table and ate.

I chewed slowly. My rumbling stomach welcomed the food, but my mind was in somewhere else. From the recesses of my senses I heard a distant cough. And then the creaks of a bed wafted out an open bedroom door.

My right hand halted mid-air, and lightly I put the spoon down. I made no move to stand; instead I found myself gazing unseeingly at the reflections on the polished marble surface.

He was sick.

The coughs came again. I snapped up, and cast a wary, almost tired glance at the stairs.

It was raining.

The downpour had lifted a little. The thunders and flashes of lightning were long gone. The light rhythmic pattering of raindrops against the windowpanes was strangely soothing.

And still he went out to buy lunch for me

For a moment, something broke through the hardened shell I had built around myself. An emotion akin to guilt flooded in.

And then, as quickly as it opened the hole was closed. I dropped my eyes at the almost empty box, and decided I was full enough. Mutely I stood and cleaned the table. I strode to the garbage bin and dumped everything into it.

As my limbs moved mechanically, falling easily into routine, my thoughts were wandering. Vaguely I wondered about the sudden surge of guilt filling me. I felt guilty. I had actually felt guilty.

Why?

And then I knew.

At that brief instant it was the want to forgive that broke through my walls. The gift so elusive I did not bother chasing was in me all this while.

Realization slapped me. Maybe, maybe, the power, the choice to forgive lies in me. In the end, I myself would have to decide whether to forgive or to continue feeding into the black dismal pool of hatred.

I could forgive. It was all up to me. After all that you might have done to atone, it is still I alone to decide whether to forgive you, or not. I choose to forgive; it is all in my mind.

I suddenly understood.

But understanding does not necessarily make things clearer.

At the moment, however, it felt like I was instead pushing that forgiving spirit away. I didn’t want to forgive; I wasn’t ready to forgive. Maybe I was still clinging onto that feelings of loath and detestation because they had been the only constancy in my life.

I wanted you to suffer at the misery you inflicted on others who obviously cared for you very much. I knew that seeing the wide abyss between us pained you. I knew the idea of me hating you so deeply shattered you.

I also knew now, that I had the control within to forgive. To relieve you off the mental torment. To bring relief to my own broken soul.

But why do I close my heart on that option?

Why do I choose to continue hating? Why do I choose such a black path? Why do I still refuse to see light?

Armed with a mindful of unanswered ‘whys’, I headed back to the computer, slightly giddy. I sat heavily on the chair, and eyed the innocent white screen. Running through the thousand voices playing in my head, I suddenly knew what to write.

I needed to vent those thoughts out, anyway.

Pausing just a bit to get the muse up and flowing, I began to type, my fingers flying across the yellowed keyboard.

“I heard you sound the car horn. Through the sliding door glass and the hazy screen of rain I saw you gesturing to the closed gate…”

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The End

If you have already read so far, please do try to drop a review! Thank you!

Posted on 8/5/2005 3.55PM