Three wishes and a fairy godmother

Chapter thirteen

He entered the street with an abrupt halt. He watched the stone he had kicked not too long ago fly and land near a skittish dog, as if dazed.

He was coming from Justin's house, right?

The funny, spaceless question popped in his head. He shrugged and dug his hands deep in his pockets, hunching his shoulders. Though, he still couldn't shake off the eery feeling that something wasn't right. The cold air whipped around him, expediting the chills creeping inside him.

He ground to a halt, inspecting his surroundings. The sounds of horns behind him and domestic life on either sides of him on the street, seemed perfectly normal but for some odd reason he couldn't put a finger on, it rubbed him off the wrong way.

Yes, he'd walk down this street before but why...?

Perplexed, he scratched the back of head as his mind raced to make sense of the bizarre gap which was gradually closing in his mind's eye. Even worse than the confusion he felt, was the guilt.

He scowled to no one in particular "Why the fuck should I be guilty for? My friend just chased me out of his house?..." He stopped himself. Hearing it out loud did weird things to his chest. He rubbed his chest to ward off the inviting sensation.

An ugly sneer took hold of his lips. He was sure that tonight had to be the most horrible night he'd ever experienced. With the strange unwelcome eeriness of the night and the earlier altercation with his friends, he quickened his steps, determimed to get back to the only house he knows.

Garbled sounds of a querulous woman echoed from one of the houses. Something about wasting food.

Chika walked faster, his figure from a distance like a levitating shadow.

A well-dressed woman walking by with paper bags took one look at Chika and fled without a word.

It felt like drawers of a blind snapped open. Like a light bulb instantly flicked on. Everything seemed to happen all at once, as though someone had pressed rewind. Perhaps, it was the angle at which the car headlights bathed her running figure. Feeling accosted himself, Chika watched the fickle woman with mixed images and emotions.

He'd seen this woman before. At this very place, (he checked his phone) by this same time, (he searched the grave sky) but before now? No, that wasn't it. Everything all at once.

Not Deja Vu, he thought, reliving. I'm reliving.

But that's not possible. His head spun with the effort to catch up, his heart pounding at the incredulity of his thoughts. He had to get home. And fast. But the next words left his mouth before he could think of anything else.

"Kyle" he breathed out. Why?

"Kyle!" His voice rose with an urgency he couldn't explain. His heart beat wildly about him. He looked from house to house, his head drumming a uneven tattoo.

"Kyle!!!" He screamed out into the complacent dark.

His feet moved before he did, propelling hard into the dark, allowing his heart take care of the direction. He had to find Kyle, he didn't know why. But he had to. He pushed himself harder, fighting against time and void. His skin tingled with apprehension, the frigid wind whipping with intensity.

Am I running ót of time? Will I find Kyle?

He turned a corner, his heart racing to catch up with him, his mind spitting out wobbly, impossible images. Or were they memories?

Kyle with the wand.

Kyle the impossible.

A more excruciating memory licked at him. An angelic face with explainable hurt etched on it.

A friend he'd hurt. Another friend he'd lost.

He slowed down, panting with effort. Short, painful breaths fell out in too-quick succession. The smell of urine and garbage swept past his nose and he looked up to discover he in the entrance of an alleyway. Memories flooded him with a forceful impact that dropped him to his knees. Memories, impossible memories, that seemed to happen to someone else in another lifetime, filled the minute gap in his head, stretching to be retained.

Rats skittered in and out of the trashcans, a dog sauntered past, nightlife sang, cars blared and artificial lights flickered all around him. The moonless evening accommodated him in the middle of it.

Grievously, stiff with emotions he'd never known, he crawled to a wall and slumped on it. Tears pooled in his eyes as he stared at another moonless sky he'd never forget.

"But of course" Chika murmured through shaky lips, "This was my wish."

One leg after the other, Chika trudged heavily along the uneven grounds of his home environment. Slim rays of sum filtered through the thick clouds and with it, his picturesque squalor community slowly rose to welcome it. He ignore the sounds of livestock, its smell, and the sounds and smell of his neighbors. This was the first time he could care less about any of them.

His chest ached and he caressed it. Bloodshot eyes hardly took in his environment, he was too numb to care.

Like a victim to his executioner, he arrived at the dock, the makeshift door flowed unassumingly before him. The contrast rattled him even more.

Does she hate me?

Will she ever forgive me?

He sucked in polluted air that rattled his dry throat. He banished all thoughts from his head, sucked in breath again, and stepped inside.

His mother sat on the failing bed, her back to the wall, her eyes closed shut. He took in her appearance, upset that she was much worse off than him. He, who'd slept outside. Her face discolored face lined with wrinkles, maintaining the serenity she was known for albeit with effort. With every breath she took, her body stirred uncomfortably.

He shuffled awkwardly where he stood. His hands clenched to his sides, he didn't dare touch her. Anxiety rolled off him, opening his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. It was easier to call out for someone who'd never come back.

"Mummy..." He began unesily.

Her eyes snapped open. "Chika? Oh Chika, is that you?"

Her weak voice broke him. He rushed over to her side of the bed and fell on his knees. Uncontrollable tears ran down his cheek, and he tried vainly to wipe them off. Shame and self-disgust drummed a tattoo in him. He'd left his mother all by herself. He started again, choking on his words. "Mummy..."

She swiftly hushed him and gently guided him into her arms, matching his cries with hers. She buried her face in his shoulders, inhaling his signature dry, musty scent. No, Mama Chika didn't want to talk. The moment was too much for her. This, this was what she'd wished to get before she died. Her son. His hug. He was all she had left.

God had answered her prayers.