Visions of Fate

PROLOGUE - DEATH AND MYSTERIES

Five Years Earlier…

They were arguing again, Mom and Dad. Shouting over each's voice, causing both to yell on top of their lungs.

I wasn't with them in the kitchen, but I had a vivid imagery of the entire scene playing out downstairs. I could distinctly imagine the kitchen lights almost fearfully blinking over them, Dad either complaining about Mom's lack of proper household skill or something of some sort, and Ma counterfeiting with Dad's job taking too much of his time.

The Mac and cheese on fire would be burnt for sure, half sliced onions completely abandoned on the chopping board, while Mom pointed the glistening knife intimidatingly at Dad's face, which would only fuel his rage.

Dad's voice overshadowed that of Mom's by a far range, that fact was clear even to an unobservant person. But Mom, as fearless as ever, chose to stand her ground, reflecting Dad's voice with an upright tone that resembled a tiny squeak when compared to his roar.

I clasped my eyes shut, hard, and tried as best as I could to zone out of the bickering that had only multiplied over the past few weeks, each one becoming more and more irritating than the last.

The comforter underneath me was like a cloud, gentle and comforting, it's silky smooth fabric caressing my skin as I nestled my body into it, absorbing it's tenderness as I slowly sank into it. But instantly, almost as the smile began to grow at my sudden calm, Pa's voice bursted through my closed door like a vengeful volcano; unexpected and angry, and I balled the smooth fabric into angry fists.

"You come back here when I'm talking to you, young lady!" He literally barked, to which Ma replied with an inaudible drone of rambling. 

God, why, why, why? Why couldn't my selfish parents learn to be more generous and understanding when it came to matters concerning their family? Didn't they feel even a twinge of guilt yelling over each other while their little and only daughter idled away in the room? Not to even bring up the subject about Pa's extremely ill mother who suffered alone in inadequate attention.

Granny, by now, had learned a long time ago to be quiet and oblivious whenever Ma and Pa got into fights like these, growing to remove herself as the mediator through tough experience.

It was then I discovered that these fights were unstoppable, through the fact that Pa had actually turned a deaf ear on his own mother's advice, proving himself as right whenever she proved him wrong. It was also then I'd also concluded the final stage of their relationship. The divorce.

That stage sat patiently, drawing nearer with each argument and growing irritation filling my parent's heart every second of every minute. The bitter fact scarred my heart, though I was sure the ultimate breaking news would do a lot worse.

And I knew, I just knew, that Ma and Pa weren't going to think twice about their decision. That, unlike most parents, Ma and Pa were willing to implement their resolve without a single consideration about their only child who slowly withered away into oblivion in their own minds.

And I also knew, that after the process was concluded, Ma was going to coo me with her tender voice, which at that moment, would turn into tiny needles pricking the very core of my brain.

"Don't worry, honey," she would say while gently caressing my head, sending sparks of anger flowing through my body. "Everything's going to be alright."

"You're just a child," she would then say. "When you grow up you'll eventually realize that your parents aren't heroes, honey. That we aren't gods that are not capable of mistakes." When in fact, I thought the opposite.

I thought my parents were lazy, self-centered slacks who only lived for themselves and knew as much about parenting as I did about archeology. One major flaw of their parenting skills being that they were too strict, as one would term it, while I recognized it as being generally inconsiderate.