One Because of a Thousand Whys (Novellete)

PART ONE: THE WHYS

(This novelette is written in melodramatic narration because I wrote this when I was a teenager, still unenlightened about the rules of writing. Professional writers and critics, spare me for this!!)

PART ONE: THE WHYS

"ARE you sure, ma'am?" the pharmacist asked as though I had spat a joke when I told her what I needed to buy: bottles of sleeping pills. My mind had interpreted it differently as if she were asking if I was certain about my plans for myself tonight.

"Ma'am?" She waved her light-skinned hand in front of my face.

I creased my forehead and cleared my throat to keep my annoyance from firing up. "Yes, yes. Got a problem with it?"

She opened her mouth as if she wanted to tell me something or ask me a specific thing, but eventually, she just zipped her mouth and shook her head and, finally, handed me the plastic of those medicines.

I laid all my bills on the counter. "Keep the change."

I strode, intending to escape this town full of people roaming around.

When I reached the dim children's park where no one was passing by, where no one would dare to walk to, I sat on the rusty swing, and without holding its handle, I looked up at the starry sky just to witness the moon showering its magnificent light. While gazing at it, the familiar pain within started to flicker.

Every night, I used to watch the sky just to contemplate how enchanting it was. Nothing compares to its beauty: the mesmerizing moonlight and ravishing billions of stars make it even more beautiful to behold.

How could the moon shine despite the darkness around it? How could the stars smile the brightest ones even though they had never met their sun? How could the moon and stars decorate the most enchanting and dashing house without the sun?

Abhorrence reigned in my heart. I envied them. I loathed them. I despised them for giving me hope that a broken person could shine at the top. They were giving me the idea that someone could still build a home through a broken heart and soul. I hated them for encouraging me to fly with a wingless body.

Having these kinds of thoughts was not new, but I could not understand why every time I thought of these, the intensity of the pain was still the same.

A cold and sharp drop of water from above landed on my cheek.

One drop suddenly became a billion drops. They stomped on my whole body, making my nerves shiver and forcing my eyes to close. But my eyes did not give in. I caught a glimpse of the little stars fading away. The moon swam, hiding behind the darkening clouds.

In just a short period, darkness ate the beauty of the sky.

That scene was like life—after that beautiful hope, there came a withered leaf of hope.

Indeed, nothing was permanent in this world; everything was just temporary because hope, happiness, and love would be gone while pain, heartache, and scars would remain.

I gritted my teeth and mentally asked, "Why? Why did you let me experience these things? Why are you letting me experience all of these? Do you exist? Because if you do, then, why? Why did you let me reach this point? Why can't I, just for once, feel your presence?"

Wasn't it funny if I still believed that there was someone higher than human beings?

My breathing turned into a heavy and erratic series of waves. The ranging negative emotions were coming out of my chest and it didn't feel good; it still hurt the same way; it was as extreme as it was before.

"Why can't I even find the because of these whys!"

Perhaps, He could hear me even though I was competing with the thunderous tap-tap-tap of the rain; perhaps, He could feel this desperate heart and He would answer me because even at this hopeless moment, deep inside at the bottom of my heart, I was still hoping that I would see the light I had never seen before. This was what I call, if not desperation, then foolishness.

After ten minutes or so, the dark clouds stopped producing tears, yet I chose to stay there. Drenched. Alone. Hopeless.

I knew it. He's not real and He will never be. I just have to convince myself to stop believing because it hurts a lot.

"SPOTTED. A SAD LADY." A shiver ran through my spine and I could feel the hair on my arm stand up.

In the middle of this night and in the middle of this desperate moment, a high-pitched masculine voice swam in the air and entered my ears, pricked through my nerves, and it vibrated down to my toes.

The wind swooshed and swirled the wet fallen leaves and flowers up in front of my face, hindering me from seeing his face.

I squinted, and all I could see was a white figure. White shirt. White pants. White shoes.

Nature's remnants dropped on the ground. And with the help of the fading moonlight, my eyes caught a pair of glimmering round eyes staring into mine.

His outfit was similar to a nurse's uniform, but he probably was not a nurse.

He took three steps toward me and only stopped when the ends of our shoes collided. Then, he bent his neck downward, locking our eyes together.

He looked decent, but his physical appearance can be deceiving. But who would care if he killed me or did worse than that?

Who would care?

I, myself, didn't even care.

I just sat there, neck bent forward, waiting for the man's next move, like shouting "hold-up" or bringing out a sharp knife to stab me to death.

If that happened, I would be grateful.

Truly, I would be.

Because I was chasing death.

***

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