My feet hurts.
Someone really rings the doorbell. Once. Not a knock. A ring. And just that once. Wow.
A little around the afternoon won’t hurt a fly, so I opened my beware lumber. No one. No sound. No response. No contours until my eyes tail the front, the sky, the street and the lawn. Is this a prank? Or mistake? Or revenge?
No shit?
I shove my feet forward. That’s how I show my tantrum. Mild childish and too fiery but no one will see it.
Somehow.
Until I felt my blue world turning upside down. Literally. I felt my thighs and feet way more up than my front. With a little bit of luck, my mouth brakes the greasy floor. I can hear the thuds and screech of my hot hands and cracking nose. I was staring on the floor. And my nose hurts. This is definitely a childish prank. And I fell twice.
Damn those sick bastards. Motherfucking assholes. I shouted.
The old woman on the other side of the street gasped in shame. A jogger jumps on his spot. The children hanging on the streets laugh in amusement. Apparently, I said it way out loud. And screaming fuck words is still new in this quiet neighborhood. Tough spot. Or so.
Everyone saw it. My tortured privacy. Shit.
I ignored them. I suddenly realized I never did earned the ‘me’ in their reputation so I focus on getting my two toes flat on the ground. I turn around to see behind the would-be damn hearted prank. I wanted to make sure what kind of thing that makes me want to punch myself.
It’s a small box.
My little prank is a small package.
Great.
I squat to pick it up. But I decided twice to open it. I’m not going to fall for the third time. Assholes. And so I shook it. This was incredibly light. I wonder why I fell in the first place. Makes me a lame idiot.
Fuck.
There is no spill. No glass. Just a plain object hovering inside the plain box. Do I have to open it?
I rolled the box to make the most of it. I don’t want some kind of sick gloves boxing my face or some kind of wild monkey peeing on my mouth or some king of lunatic completely naked flying all over the house?
Am I delusional? I’m afraid so.
But the thing that it was light sure scares me. And then, I found Scar’s initial scribbled on the side. It was terribly small. I noticed it though.
Why was Scarlet’s initial be there?
This is definitely a prank. Definitely.
It was half past 9 and I still don’t have the taste to urge myself in opening the box. I leaned back on the couch, pacing and muttering odd words, hesitant in opening that damn, mortifying box.
I was never this hesitant. But I hate regrets. And Scar’s my only regret. Now, it costs me more than dying.
Scar, why now?
I stared at only on her initial. Damn it to hell. I don’t care what’s on the inside but I’ll even more regret if I don’t try to open it.
Or not.
But I opened it.
Holy shit. My heart thumps. Loud enough to panic and looks like shit.
Mother of – Huh? I flinched. I adjusted again my eyes. Guess what’s on the inside
A notebook.
A plain white notebook. No sick gloves. No flying monkey. No naked king of lunatic. Brilliant.
Scar, you got me. Real good.
I slouched, throwing the notebook besides me. Why am I hopelessly acting like an idiot? Again. And I picked it up. Again.
I groaned. Arg. I must be going crazy.
But then, I flipped it. No one can stand neither myself if I kept acting preposterous. The first page is full blank except Scar’s initial on the bottom. She really loves that mark. It’s that distinctiveness she wants that makes her. On its second, she throws some poetry -
Can I be good to the people of whatnot?
Can tattles be gentler with rhythms of blue?
How would you beat the sounds of feud?
How can anyone struggle to gain the ‘win’?
812Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyk0YV7eEKT
What was that? I hardly understands what that was supposed to mean. I mean when you have read it, it’s terrible enough to call it a poem. It’s pretty terrible, yet luring. It’s Scarlet’s work but I felt like I own it? Or – Scar, please don’t tell me you don’t beg to talk to me like this. It’s your goddamn diary, for heaven’s sake.
I flipped unto the next page in haste.
Hi, Greg!
My insides throb. Hard.
If you are already reading this, I’d probably be dead right now.
Wait. What? How do you know you’re supposed to be dead?
Surprise? Or not
Yeah. A lot.
I have lived with Scarlet in five years and I never had seen her writing or scribbling something. Neither a letter or novel or poem or tales. Ever since she married me. And now, a note just popped out of my eyes in the front, with her initials and her hand writings.
I thought this is supposed to be a diary. Maybe, this is a prank, after all. From the way this was written, this should be a letter.
I’m supposed to put this as a letter but hey, who would want to send letters to someone as requested by a person who believes she’s dying herself?
Anyone.
No, I’m not kidding, Greg. You won’t believe me right now but honey, you’ve known me and I can see it in you I’m already long dead.
I gulped. This is not true. You’re always alive in me. Even right now. Why are you telling me this? Am I not the only one blaming myself for the reason that you’re dead?
Greg, honey. I love you as much as I hate you.
I only love you, honey. I hated myself, too.
That is why I chose to end this ‘me’.
Scar, whoa. Slow down. Am I missing something in here?
You’re already squeezing me. Too tight. You’re not really going to tell me what I’m telling myself right now. You’re suffocating me.
This is not a suicidal note, Greg.
I heave a sigh.
I did not kill myself.
812Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIiXH3fVlAy
812Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrRrfSSJKm3
812Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHkj9jYZzDM
812Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFNcInZf2ZQ
812Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfv9VxgTU6F
812Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDnxAFVtfgU
812Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVZaHWUOuDI
812Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6N3kwud9eT
You did.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
