Empty

It seemed like the perfect time to die.

Alex had been thinking about his death for a long time now, fantasizing about the way he would do it, imagining the look on everyone’s faces, the silent vigil and tiny shrine his classmates would come up with. Would they regret not talking to him? Would they regret the way they seemed to look through him? He wondered if anyone at school would truly miss him.

His sister was too little to feel the loss keenly, he knew. She would forget him in a few years, or end up remembering a vague memory, a hopefully pleasant one. Maybe she would remember how he swept her up on his shoulders and ran around the house, even as his mom objected. He loved that she was tiny enough for her to still do that. In those moments, with her happy shrieks in his ear, he could feel happy too. A weak reflection of her elation. He wondered if she ever felt his sadness. He didn’t want her to. He wanted her to remember him as the smiling brother who gave her candy. She would need others to tell her what he was like, but maybe no one really knew what he was like. Not even his mother.

His mom had known and loved the child he was, but that love had turned sour some time back. She always seemed harried and annoyed now, angry with the world for everything, and it was getting harder to remember the smiling woman who used to bake him cookies and then pretend she couldn’t see him lick the bowl.

Something had soured in him too. He wondered if this was how his mom felt, dissatisfied and disenchanted by everything, unable to get excited about anything. She expressed herself with anger and bitterness. He wished he could feel even that. All he felt was… numb. He felt as if life was passing him by, barely touching him.

He straightened his back and squared his shoulders as his home came into view. Both the adults were home, he saw instantly. They were going to be angry. He was late. He had taken the long way home, crossing the railroad tracks behind his school, wondering if stepping in front of a train was a cool way to go or just plain and old fashioned. He hadn’t decided yet.

His mom was too busy cooking dinner to notice him. Someone had annoyed her, because she was muttering obscenities under her breath like she usually did when angry, banging pots and pans to let everyone know not to mess with her. He skirted the breakfast nook and headed towards the stairs, hoping to not be seen. He wondered if his sister had gotten a B again. She was a smart girl, and his mom knew it. Anything below an A was unacceptable for his sister.

Or maybe it wasn’t his sister, but her father. He was a nice man, slightly clueless but kind. He had married Alex’s mom a couple of years ago, and she had found fault with him ever since. It took fairly little for his mom to find fault with people.

“Where were you?”

He paused, a couple of steps away from his door. So close.

“Alex? Why are you so late?” Max demanded again, his voice stern. It didn’t suit him.

Alex turned to stare at his kind, round face. For a second, he imagined telling the truth. I was contemplating the merits and demerits of trains as an element of suicide. “Why is my mom angry?” he asked instead.

Max shrugged, his brow crunching in worry. “Lily got a note from school. She didn’t submit a homework paper.”

Ouch. He was glad he had some candy in his room. His sister would need it after facing his mother’s wrath. He wondered if she was hiding in the laundry room again. It angered him to think of her being scolded for a little homework. It angered him that he could do nothing. She didn’t sign up for this. She didn’t sign up to be part of this rotten family.

“Where were you?” Max asked again, and this time he forgot to sound strict. Instead, his voice was soft and understanding, his gaze kind. For a second, Alex wondered if he knew what was going on in his head.

“Out,” he said, his voice unintentionally clipped. He wanted to get away from this conversation, from the strange compassion in Max’s eyes. What did he know about Alex’s life?

“I was worried about you,” said Max with a smile. “Can you text me next time you are going to be late? I would like to know.”

It surprised Alex enough that he nodded without thought, agreeing to his step father’s request. He could do that. A simple text to let Max know not to worry. Not yet anyways. There would come a day when he would be late and send no word of it, and maybe Max wouldn’t worry too much at first, but then he would know something was wrong. The kind face would crumble into worry, then fear. Alex realized he couldn’t imagine what Max would look like when he got the news, or saw his body. It was painful to think about.

But that day was a ways off. It wasn’t the right time yet.

 

The Day I Died, A Short Story

I fear nights like this.

My sons have long gotten used to it, this fear of mine. They think it is another symptom of my old age, and so they let me stay in my room every time the sky turns dark and lightning strikes. They think it is the sudden sheet of blinding white light that scares me, or the booming thunder. They think it might be the torrential rain. They think it might even be the churning sky.

Whatever they think, they are wrong.

I fear these nights of thunder because they remind me of that fateful night over thirty years ago. I honestly cannot even remember where on this Earth we had gone—Richard, Dennis, Cal, and I—for our spring break. It was somewhere in Hawaii, maybe.  I can remember nothing about that trip, in fact. All I can remember is that wet night. I have often heard it being said that memories grow dimmer with age, but this one memory is branded onto my very soul. As such, I remember everything—including the smell of hay hanging in the air as we sat and brooded, gazing into the fire Richard had made in the middle of the stable, ignoring the sounds of the rain beating on the roof…

“That was quite a sudden downpour, huh?” Dennis muttered. “Guess that’s the way it happens here in Hicksville.”

 

“Thank God for this empty stable,” I said. “And the hay.”

 

“Nah,” said Richard, taking a swig out of the many bottles of cheap but potent liquor we had found in our search of the premises. “We should probably just thank the idiots who would erect a stable without horses in it. And cheap liquor. I doubt I would be happy sharing with any smelly four-legged creatures.”

 

“How about a two-legged one?” yelled Cal as he walked back in through the wide doors. He had had a little more to drink than the rest of us, and so he had gone out to relieve himself. “Look who I met outside!”

 

“Grandpa!”

I started from my reverie as I looked at Jason, my grandson. His innocent four-year-old eyes were gazing at me with frank interest.

“What were you thinking about, Grandpa?”

I looked out into the night through the window. Going back to that night for a second. “Monsters, Jason. I was thinking of monsters in the dark.”

His face crumpled with worry. “Monsters are real? But Grandpa, Mummy says there’s no such thing as monsters. ”

“But they are real,” I told him. “They take what they want, no matter what the consequences for others. No matter what others want.”

Jason, who had lost interest in that line of conversation, glanced around my darkened room. “Why is it so dark in here, Grandpa? Won’t you turn on the lights?”

“No,” I said, a little too sharply. “There are things hidden in the dark, Jason. Things that need to stay hidden. Things I don’t want to face.”

Jason opened his mouth to speak—probably more pesky questions—but his mother’s voice wafted up the stairs. “Jason! Come on, honey, let Grandpa rest. We need to leave now if we want to reach home by mid-morning in time for Daddy’s appointment.”

“I don’t want to go back home,” Jason whispered to me as he turned to the door. “I want to spend my summer holidays here, with you.” Since he knew that neither I nor he had a say in the matter, he turned to leave.

And so, within minutes, I was alone in the big house where I had spent my youth, raising my sons who left without even saying goodbye. My youth… Ah, that misspent night of my spring break reared up in my mind again, and I closed my eyes as Cal’s taunting voice echoed in my ears.

 

He hadn’t come back alone. He was dragging a protesting young girl behind him as he made his way to the fire. I knew the pretty little blonde. She was not more than fifteen or sixteen, and was the daughter of the owners of our little bed-and-breakfast. She was deaf and dumb, but with a great body. I eyed her appreciatively, and patted the straw next to me.

 

“Come, sit,” I said. For I knew she could read my lips. Speaking of lips, hers looked soft and sensuous. A woman’s lips. She was not such a child anymore.

 

“Or you could sit in my lap,” Dennis said, guffawing loudly at his own joke.

 

The girl—I had forgotten her name—was making angry motions of her head as she tried to free her wrist from Cal’s. He didn’t let go. As he sat and pulled the flailing girl into his lap, she bit his shoulder. Hard.

 

“You little slut!” He roared as he backhanded the girl. “How dare you? You know how much you mean to me? To us? You’re nothing. There are many more where you came from.”

 

Richard let out a snort of laughter. “She doesn’t understand you, you dumbass. She can’t hear.” He took another swig from the dusty bottles.

 

It was true. The girl was in a panic, flailing about, trying to escape Cal, trying to escape us all. There was genuine animal terror in her eyes, and a kind of raw desperation in her movements. She tried to shrink as far away from us as possible when we scooted forward and started stroking her bare skin.

 

“Oh come on, honey,” Cal said in a cajoling voice as he made outrageous hand signals to make her understand. “All we want to do is show you a good time. What’s the matter? Do you have a boyfriend?”

 

At that moment, with so much liquor in us, the idea was outrageously funny. We all laughed.

 

Dennis lunged forward drunkenly. “Maybe we are not being very clear,” he said as he tore off the girl’s pretty pink top. He laughed again as she tried snatch it back. She looked like a trapped animal, but at that moment, none of us pitied her.

 

“Enough foreplay,” said Cal authoritatively. His hands slipped under her skirt. He smiled lewdly. “I think she is ready. Who’s first?”

 

We were drunk, we were horny, and we were stupid. That girl had meant nothing to us, nothing at all. Her name… We didn’t even remember her name. I hated myself now, but back then, it had meant nothing. Her life, her aspirations, her dreams and her innocence… Nothing had meant anything. She was just a means to an end.

I still remember her scream. She had only screamed that first time, when Dennis had soiled her. It was a wordless scream, but still it had not been in anguish. I saw it when I looked in her eyes. They were damning me to the depths of hell. She must have been in pain, I understand that now, but she didn’t plead with her eyes. She didn’t beg. In that moment, that woman-child became a woman in my eyes. Her eyes, the colour of the summer sky, were angry. I still remembered after almost three decades, the first licks of uneasiness I felt though the buzz of the alcohol as I looked at her. Her eyes were promising me that one day she would have her revenge.

I hate thunderstorms. They remind me that once I was a stupid, horny man with no regard for someone’s dignity, their hopes, dreams and aspirations… Even their life.

Because the next morning, as we fought hangovers and packed our bags, we got news that the owner’s deaf and dumb daughter had hung herself in the old stable near the woods.

We didn’t even know her name…

I started out of my damning thoughts as I heard someone open the door to my room.

“Jason? Jared? Allison?” I called out as no one appeared in the open doorway. “Did you guys forget something?” But I knew who it was. Deep down, I already knew. She had come for her revenge. I knew she had. It was irrational to think so, but she had come back. As I had always known she would.

Instead, I merely stared at the man who walked into my darkened bedroom. His obsidian eyes were blazing. I was rooted to the chair, unable to move, unable to scream for help, unable to fight. Unable to do anything but look Death in the eye.

The eyes…

I remembered those eyes. I remember, as we were leaving, there was a little boy sobbing in the owner’s arms. He was screaming… Screaming for his kaikuahine, yelling for justice. As we paid for our stay, he tried to make the local cops that his sister wouldn’t kill herself. Not without cause.

And, as we walked out the door, we heard him swear. If you don’t do my  kaikuahine justice, I will!

 

He was here for justice.

When he stabbed me, my scream was as animal-like and wordless as his sister’s.

I never knew his name.

Flitting Innocence

It was another hellish summer day in New York City, with temperatures running too high for comfort. Under the unrelenting sky, shimmering hot air rose from the sidewalk, and the sluggish traffic jam on the Upper East Side became a battlefield. Loudly yelled inventive curses mixed with the racket created by the horns of numerous vehicles, and a couple of off-duty traffic cops made bets regarding a wrestling match in progress next to two cars standing bumper-to-bumper. One headlight was missing. They could have stopped it, but they were not on duty. Besides, the wrestlers weren’t doing too much damage, being struck in a horizontal embrace. The hawkers on the sidewalk smirked at each other as they watched the fight, enjoying a break from the tedious boredom of feeding ungrateful business executives as they hurried to work. No one tried to stop the fighters. It was much more rewarding to watch.

Besides, it was simply too hot to bother.

In a penthouse above this entertaining brawl, Alicia kept one eye trained on Jake, who was waddling across the living room in search of something elusive. Ever since he had learned to walk, their eighteen-month-old had become a nightmare to both Alicia and Michael, waddling off at a moment’s notice. Usually, around this time, Alicia put him in his playpen, but today she let him play. As mentioned previously, it was just too hot to bother.

Her other eye was trained on Doctors McDreamy and Meredith having yet another argument on TV. Her concentration, however, was focused on her conversation with Judith, whose tiny voice was filtering through the cell phone Alicia was holding to her ear with a sweaty hand.

“I don’t know why you just can’t come over to my place, Alicia,” Judith whined. “You said so yourself-it’s too hot. The repairman is coming tomorrow, so what? You’re gonna spend today without an AC? What’s the use living in an apartment in the most expensive building in NYC if you just don’t have air-conditioning?”

“I can’t, Judith,” Alicia said as she saw Jake have a staring match with the carpet. He cheated and drooled on it. She rolled her eyes. “Jake is cranky and moody today… I doubt you would like him there.”

“Remind me again why you don’t have a babysitter? Or, better yet, an au pair?”

Jake attacked the playpen with his half-dozen teeth, gnawing ferociously. She should really get up and put him down for a nap or something. “Because Michael didn’t want our son raised by strangers.”

“Where is he right now? I don’t see him raising his child. Why isn’t he the one sacrificing his career? Sexist idiot,” Judith mumbled.

Alicia smiled as Jake waddled out of her view. “He’s getting a partnership soon, Jude. He really can’t just slack off now. Once we have that partnership, we’ll see. Besides, I usually like having Jake all to myself…”

The subject of her talk was toddling away cheerfully. The heat had been bothering him, making him cranky, but he had forgotten the discomfort only as a child could. His attention was otherwise diverted right now. A butterfly, blood-red and orange in color, was sitting on his Teddy’s ear. This was the first time he had seen one–living high above the rest of the city did not come without a price. Jake smiled, his fragile attention solely focused on this new, beautiful creature. He looked back towards his Mom, but she was talking again, and so he set off to explore all by himself.

He knew, instinctively, that he had to be quiet. Two soft blue eyes focused on the butterfly. Careful, cautious, he inched forward. But alas! He was only a child, and his awkward gait alerted that mystical creature, and it took flight. Jake followed with his eyes, mesmerized by the way her wings shone in the light streaming through the open bay window. His mother had opened it, hoping for a stray breeze, but hadn’t been so lucky.

And now the butterfly–a new, exciting, beautiful thing–was leaving through the window.

Jake, still under the spell of those wings that looked like they were on fire, followed it silently. It was the Piped Piper of Hamlin, and Jake was but a tiny, adorable mouse. He was confused by the curtains for a minute, and lost track of his new obsession, but found it soon enough, highlighted against the sun. He couldn’t see the bright colors in its wings anymore, and that bothered him.

Soon he was intrigued by the way it surged forward to settle on one of his mother’s flowerpots. The garden was beautiful, but right now it did not hold a candle to the beauty of that butterfly. He moved closer to the railing. The railing had horizontal bars about a couple of feet apart, and the butterfly was sitting on the topmost one. He wanted to touch it, feel those wings and see if that hurt too, because once he had touched his father’s cigarette lighter, and hurt himself. But even that bit of danger was not enough to dim the allure of that new, fascinating creature, and he moved his hand.

At that exact moment, Alicia turned up the volume of the TV. Startled, the flew away.

Jake looked back at his Mom. She wasn’t looking at him.

He simply moved closer to the balcony railing, hoping to catch the little thing this time. He was quieter as he moved closer, and he didn’t come too close. Instead, he stopped when he was close enough, and leaned his entire body closer to the butterfly. His hands moved to grab it, but, at the last moment the butterfly moved again, flitting out of reach, flying into the sun.

Jake couldn’t balance himself. The momentum of his lunge, combined with the awkward forward slouch he was in, carried him forward, and through the gap between the bars of the railing. One minute he was safely on the balcony, and in the next moment he was sailing through the air. It was horrifyingly foreign, and he opened his mouth to cry out on reflex.

Unfortunately, he did not even get the chance for that last, bewildered cry. His death was mercifully quick, the tiny neck broken, and he felt nothing other than that jarring first impact. He hadn’t made a sound.

Alicia heard the commotion on the street, but simply rolled her eyes. It wouldn’t be New York City unless someone or the other rammed someone else’s car, starting a brawl. Native New Yorkers had no driving skills at all. What they had, in spades, was impatience. Usually, she would walk out to the balcony to watch the drama unfold. But today she stayed cuddled on her couch.

After all, it was simply too hot to bother.

Unnatural Love?

The church is new, as is the graveyard. Citizens of Bushley are proud to be a newly-recognised parish, and it shows in the way they care for the church, and for their dead.

The church is old-fashioned, as are the people. A gleaming white building with a wooden cross attached at the top, it is supposed to be home to all those who wish to be closer to God, to be comforted, and above all, to repent. The pews are shining with wood polish, and the crucifix is bright and heralds all to come and find themselves in the arms of the Holy Son. The big stained glass windows on the sides of the building let in enough sunlight to bathe the room, glinting over the pulpit, and making artificial lighting unnecessary. The parishioners like it that way.