UNRAVELLED: Silent Syndicate

Chapter 1

I open my eyes only to find myself lying on my bed. The bright light penetrating through the curtain burns my eyes, forcing me to quickly shut them again. I desperately try to drift back into my dream as my father's face flashes through the back of my mind, but my efforts are in vain. I snap my eyes open, jolted by the realization that my father is no more. Tears begin to sting my eyelids, waiting impatiently for me to blink so they can cascade down my now crimson cheeks.

The events of yesterday's night seep into my consciousness, feeling all too real. My delicate, feminine ears echo with the sound of my mother's voice as she screamed at my father's head, which was half-wrapped in a box. The tears I had been holding back finally roll down my cheeks, their warmth contrasting with the coldness beneath my skin. My feet feel icy, growing numb beneath the weight of my despair. Is this reality, or is this pain weighing down my chest and crushing my heart just a bad dream that will eventually fade away?

Anxious for answers, I roll my body towards the edge of my queen-sized bed and hear a loud thud as I hit the ground. Pain shoots through my arm in an instant, and I wince—not just from the ache radiating through me, but from the painful truth that this is real. My father has truly passed away, and the fact that he's no longer with us fills me with a deep sense of wretchedness.

My chest feels heavier than ever, and I can't articulate the tumult of emotions swirling within me as my insides burn, as if being churned by acid. I clutch my chest, my fingers curling into fists as I grip my pajamas and skin tightly, allowing my nails to dig in. The faint traces of pain can't subdue me even a bit. My breathing quickens, my chest rising and falling frantically as I curse under my breath. My throat aches, demanding a scream to release the anguish that envelops me. Unable to resist the urge any longer, I scream as loud as I can to drown out the incessant images of my father's demise invading my mind.

The door bursts open, a whirlwind of motion as arms envelop me, lifting me from the abyss of my despair. My mother's voice, a soothing balm against the jagged edges of my pain, whispers reassurances in my ear. I cling to her, a lifeline in the storm of my grief. "It's okay, baby, we'll be fine. It's okay," my mother comforts, her voice laced with sympathy. I soak her chest with my tears until I run dry, unable to cry any longer.

"I swear to God, I'm going to kill whoever the hell killed my father," I vow fiercely.

"Easy, Mey. I get that you're hurt, sweetie, but that's not the way we talk, is it?" she admonishes gently. The use of such language in our household is strictly forbidden and considered disrespectful.

I swallow back my rage, ashamed of the darkness that threatens to engulf me. "I'm sorry," I murmur, my gaze dropping to the floor.

My mother envelops me in another hug, and I wrap my arms around her, feeling grateful for her presence in my life. "I love you, Mom," I say.

"I know, sweetie. And I know how much pain you're going through. Your father was killed in the most horrific way. Seeing his head like that drained the life out of me, and it hurts even more that we don't know where the rest of his body is. I can't even give him a proper cremation where his... his body... parts are all put together," she says, her words punctuated by sobs. This tragedy affects me deeply, but it has also shattered my mother. Right now, we are two broken shells, lost and unsure of where life will lead us.

My mother's arms tighten around me as we comfort each other, both striving to ease the pain from the knot formed in our hearts.

I may not know where life is taking us from here, but I am resolute in my commitment to ensure my father receives a dignified cremation. If I fail in this endeavor, the regret will haunt me forever, rendering my life a perpetual torment—one I refuse to accept. In truth, my life already feels like an inferno. The loss of my father feels like the loss of a significant part of me. He was my sunshine, my moonlight in the pitch-black, the beacon at the end of every tunnel, the father anyone could ever hope for—the brightest star among all others. I was closer to him than I am to my mother. He illuminated my path whenever I felt lost, instilling hope in me whenever I stood on the brink of despair. He had been my rock for all nineteen years of my life, understanding me more profoundly than anyone ever had.