My gaze darted towards the window as I climbed onto the couch and peered outside. At my doorstep I saw two figures clad in raincoats, holding something in their hands. At that moment I entered a quiet state of deliberation. Why would two people go out in the middle of a rainstorm?
But at the same time, I couldn't help but feel my curiosity pique. My eyes remained fixated on the figures on my doorstep for a few more silent seconds before I climbed off the couch, adjusting my collar and cuffs in an attempt to appear presentable. My slippers padded over to the door as I opened it slowly, my body tensing slightly as I caught sight of them.
The two figures were about my height, but their calloused and wrinkled hands were a silent proclamation of their age. My hand remained coiled around the doorknob as I watched the figures for a few moments.
"Hello, dear." An elderly woman's voice sounded from beneath the raincoat she was wearing.
"Hello..." I replied, my heart beginning to accelerate beneath my skin, contemplating the possibility of leaping down to my stomach in cowardice.
"Did you lose power too?" The woman asked, looking up at me. I could see the genuine concern in her eyes.
"I did..." I looked back into my house and stepped aside a little, allowing the elderly couple a view of my homestead. "Just about fifteen minutes ago."
"That's awful..." At that moment I heard the crinkling of wrappers for a few seconds, and the woman handed me a slightly moist paper bag with black writing on the front of it.
"For your troubles, sweetie. Are you home alone?"
I shook my head as I took the paper bag. "No, my parents are asleep down the hall."
She then took out two other paper bags, offering me a gentle smile. "Well then, save these for them."
I nodded as I took the bags, holding them all bundled up due to my inability to hold them in my palm. "Thank you, ma'am."
The woman nodded her head. "You're welcome, dear."
At that moment I caught sight of the man beside her. He had prominent wrinkles around his face and lips, and his skin drooped a little, but he wore a continuous smile. It was my neighbor I had seen over the fence! My lips parted as if wanting to speak, but I felt no words leave my mouth.
"Have a good night." The man said, stepping back with his wife. I gave them a somewhat genial smile as I extended my right hand and closed the door behind me. Now that I was alone and without external stimulation, I could smell what they had given me.
It was the same smell I had experienced earlier tonight, it was the Japanese cheesecake the couple had made.
Gripping the three paper bags in my hand, I slowly strolled over to the counter, which was still painted with the charity items from Garry. I put the three bags on the counter and took out one of the cheesecakes from the bag.
It was a creamy tan color, with a powdery surface of sugar, which reminded me of snow. On top of the cheesecake were numerous fruits such as strawberries, raspberries and blueberries clustered in the corner of the upper pie, giving it a more regal appearance despite its homey origins.
I opened one of the kitchen drawers and took out a used napkin, laying it under the cake so I wouldn't risk scattering crumbs like an idiot.
If I were to eat this I shouldn't leave remnants of my consumption left behind for my father to see, he's most likely flip his lid. Even if I had gotten two other cakes I silently insisted on keeping the other one for myself too, and either giving the last cake to either Ayumi or my mother.
When I bit into the cheesecake I felt the warm, spongy texture of the pastry diffuse on my tongue like it was melting. The warm, sweet cheese filling gushed out of the pastry and onto my tongue. It was honestly one of the best things I had ever tasted.
After I devoured the pastry whole my gaze fell on the other two paper bags with handwriting on them, my hand reaching out and grabbing them both by the tops.
I placed the first bag on top of the fridge in the cabinet which my father never checked, and my mother always used to store her cleaning supplies.
I took the other pastry into my room and stored it under my bed, wrapping it tightly and compacting it to prevent excess moisture from accumulating and spoiling the dessert.
It was at this moment I realized I had been grasping the rain-soaked journal in my hand the entire time, its ink-black surface mottled and wrinkled room the rain. I had used the last of the napkins to accommodate myself, which made me feel a tiny bit selfish and guilty.
I took the paper bag from under my bed and took out the last wrapped cheesecake, putting it on my bedside stand. I then coiled the journal within the paper bag, pressing with a vice-like grip—hoping the bag could absorb any excess moisture and return the diary to its previous condition—even a little bit.
Eventually after a good five minutes my grip on the paper bag loosened and it fell to the floor, now sopping wet with the water from the diary. On the contrary, the diary had now been somewhat cleaned of the rain—though its surface was slightly chilly to the touch.
I let out a long sigh as I opened the book again, gazing at the dark red words scrawled out on the paper.
"I want to get out of this place."
"I want to get rid of my awful father."
"Does anyone actually care about me?"
Even as the words terrified me a little, I also couldn't help but feel like those words were something I wanted to come true so badly.
But why were they transcribed in this red liquid? From what I could remember our house didn't possess any red writing materials like pens or markers.
The words looked...wrong. The material was too dark, too thick for it to be ink. Writing from ink never usually bled through a few pages at most. I continued to gaze at the paper, my heart pounding in my chest as I continued to analyze this substance.
The words inscribed in the page were obviously my messy and almost incoherent handwriting, but I could easily decipher it since I had experience telling my teachers what I had written down when they couldn't translate my words—or hieroglyphs in their teasing.
An eerie pang of curiosity rushed through me as I raised the journal page to my nose, giving it a small sniff. The smell of the page mixed with water seemed to overpower the smell of the liquid. What if this liquid was flavorless? What if the rain had erased all sense of scent from it?
I held the paper even closer to my nose, almost to the extent where I could feel the hairs on my nose brush against the lined paper. My hands trembled slightly—either from the cold or from some outside—foreign emitter of fear.
When I took another sniff my nose clenched as if it had smelt the worst thing imaginable. The smell was faint yet coppery, thick and faintly sour. It was blood.
My eyes widened as I instantly stepped back, my journal falling to the ground. I wasn't about to faint for a third time due to contact with blood.
My body leapt towards the bed, curling up on the sheets to prevent a potentially deadly fall to the floor if I did pass out from a vasovagal reaction. I hugged my knees to my chest and began to take deep breaths, attempting to stir off the effects I was currently experiencing.
The room around me began to spin, and a bright light engulfed my vision, then it all went dark.
...
I saw a scene in my kitchen, although it was only for a moment. My wrist was stained with red, numerous deep cuts by the kitchen knife. Then it faded again.
Another scene, tears rushed down my face as I ran my wounds under cold water.
Then another bright light washed over me, and I heard the faint sound of birds calling and the distant yet tranquil ambience of a forest.
All of the sudden, I heard a young voice call out.
"What have I done?"
A young boy, clad in a white wool shirt, overalls and a large hat on his head to shield him from the sun, which shone through a clearing of trees above.
The boy had brown hair and was kneeling before an animal—a dead one. It was a cardinal, its body battered up from falling from such a height and into a pile of dried leaves.
"What happened? Lord have mercy if you brushed yourself." A masculine voice sounded in the forest, accompanied by the sounds of boots stomping on leaves.
The man was about six feet tall and was clad in clothing similar to the boy. The young boys gaze fell onto his fathers, and his eyes widened as he clutched the dead cardinal to his chest, fresh salty tears leaking from the corners of his large, innocent eyes.
"I didn't mean to! I was just playing, papa!" The young boy blurted out.
"Accidents happen, 'youngin."
The man extended his left palm, prompting the boy to give him the carcass of the bird. At that moment the boy's grip on the animal didn't loosen—instead it tightened.
"What are you gonna do?" He asked, his voice quivering.
"We gotta bury the blasted thing." The man replied, his tone hardening like stone.
The boy seemed roused by this change in demeanor, so he quickly let go of the bird and handed it to the taller man. He took a few silent moments to look over the creature, seeing its closed eyelids and bloodied feathers as a tell-tale sign of its fate.
"It's dead, fella. I'll get the shovel."
...
After a few minutes the man returned with a rusty shovel, planting it into the soil, spitting down into the brown dirt.
"This was gonna be our plantin' land, but your little runnin' around with forest creatures curses it."
"C-curse?" The boy's eyes widened as he stepped back, his eyes darting around as if paranoid of an unseen danger which was watching them.
"Not literally you dumbo." The man's lips curled into a toothy smile as he looked back at his son, offering him a wheezy chuckle.
As the man began to dig, the boy's gaze remained fixated on the bird, watching as its dead carcass gradually disappeared over the accumulating soil.
"Does this mean...I won't be able to play in the forest anymore?" He fiddled with the buttons of his shirt as he asked the question.
"Maybe. You're supposed to be helpin' your mama back home anyways." The gruff looking man replied, finishing the burial.
"Luckily for you creatures like those don't deserve a monument, only a little hole in the ground to tell others what happened to them."
After a few moments of silently admiring his work he pointed his boney finger in the distance towards a clearing of evergreen trees, and a large rock sitting near the edge of it.
"Come with me." He said simply, gently grabbing the boy by the hand and leading him towards the rock, sitting against it as they both watched the sun disappear over the horizon—the sky gradually getting darker.
"Why did you hurt that bird to begin with?" The man asked in a solemn voice, his eyebrows lifting a millimeter as he looked towards the younger boy.
"I was playing with...I threw a rock...and it hit the bird..." the boy stuttered out, as if he'd be slapped if he responded the wrong way.
"Ahh, I see." The man took a few moments to look into his son's brown eyes, seeing the vulnerability laced within them.
"Recklessness is the essence of a fool."
He leaned back further against the rock, cracking his back as he rolled his neck a few times.
"You wanted to frolic with that poor creature and you ended up killing it."
"It was an accident!" The boy blurted out, his small fists clenching they turned a light shade of white.
"Accidents are for cowards—fools who refuse to acknowledge their recklessness and stupidity. Their brains be going looney, tellin' them they did not nothin' wrong."
"Are you saying...I'm looney?" The boy's small eyes widened, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his brown pupils as they met his fathers.
"Maybe. But who really cares at this point whether my son is looney. The animals here are really the only friends you made, but since you hurt one of em' they either hate you or never wanna come back."
"...really?"
"Mhm." His father nodded his head with a tinge of refinement, his gaze falling back to the sun as it receded behind the clearing of evergreen trees.
"Let's get back to the house, mothers almost done with her stew. It may not be the best thing you'll ever eat, but it gets your noggin' runnin,' even at night."
Another shot of blinding light engulfed the area as I woke up, my eyes shooting open.