‘Isn’t it cruel to ask anyone what their future will be, because who knows? Not me! I don’t know. Take a stroll? Why are you being mean? I don’t even know what I want for dinner. Now I’m going to cry and hyperventilate into a bag, thanks for ruining my day.’
Then I stormed out of the house. Without looking back I knew she was staring at me.
Hers was history.
Even history isn’t as straightforward as Steven Spielberg’s World War II films would have you believe. That’s why I always laugh when someone claims that the present is more insane than the past. People have always been crazy, and they always will be.
Then she began to call my name but I was long gone.
Gone like my mama who got jailed when I was three. She called it self-defense but they called it murder. Grandma looked after me ever since.
Today she asked what my future holds. What else? What more can it hold when papa left on my fifth birthday? No mails, never a single call.
Walking east about ten blocks, grandma’s voice still echoes in my head as I suddenly found myself in the park. My thinking was going along like that when I spotted something flowing to my foot. Blood! I stopped and took in a loud deep breath; the air entered my throat and floated down. I could feel my lungs expand and contract, growing clean and pure, as if scrubbed with a bar of Ivory soap.
I looked both ways but was afraid where to put my foot. Dismembered bodies everywhere like chicken washed up for cooking. My heart kicked into a quicker beat and my throat went dry. I didn’t hear the sound of the helicopter hovering above me neither could I remember how long I stood there waiting forever like a legend statue.
‘F..r..e..e..z..e!’ a voice said, only if he knew I was long frozen.
Then just like a dream I remembered what I wrote down in my diary long time ago.
Today 15th of March, 2016. I finally graduated from college, how I wish papa was here to see how much have grown, hoping to become the best reporter in town, so that every time papa watch his T.V, he’ll see me. – George Marsh.
Something about the stench of blood brought me back to my senses. I was amongst them, soaked with different blood. There was a knot in my gut at the thought of it. I began to puke.
‘F..r..e..e..z..e. Put your hands where I can see them!’
Struggling to my feet from the sticky mud soaked with fresh blood that tries to keep me down, I raised my hands but unknown to me I was holding a dripping arm.
From nowhere rang the loudest bang of all centuries that landed me back on the ground. I was floating like as if thrown on mighty waters. The future became clearer to me.
Grandma was not mean after all.
Then I appeared on every reporter’s blog.