A battle I won't lose

Chapter-4. Lost

The night has set as the street way gets cleared resulting in an eerie circumstance. The sounds of cricket and the buzz of the insects clogging the streetlights drown the place. The walls painted with graffiti and dust are more gloomy at night. This atmosphere is a perfect place for a serial killer, AND look who's walking through it..... me. It's me. I am heading through this way to reach home at a quicker pace. I fear that someone would grab me by the throat and yank me into one of those crappy vans. I am holding the book tight in my arms, so It won't run away again. This book caused me too many problems already. OH, you probably don't know how I got it back or remember.
Well......it kinda happened like this,

"Gosh, I can't find, that crappy goblin." The night has already begun leaving the once-fiery sun in someone else's service. Walking down the path must be a tiring job for a few but I have no problem with this.  Everything's a lot of fun for me because no matter how downhill my life goes, I  can't help but want more. Bad habits sure die hard. I walk through the narrow alleyway; a common shortcut for burglars, unfortunately, I am not one of them. My boot scraps the wall as I push myself out of that hell tube of a shortcut. I need a rest.

I have been walking for too long. I skipped to the nearest bench, I could find, How nice for them to put a magazine board to read free magazines from. Could work for my entertainment. I pick up a maga-..........uhh, this, uhhhhh. WTF. I jolt up as I scan the book. Why was it here?! Did some ransom person steal my book and put it here?! I hug the book tight in my arms, fear welled inside me that I will lose it again. I can't test that theory.....I scan the place as I head back home, not once opening the book.

Well......that was the flashback that I remember because It's now photographed in my subconscious. I reach my home, our door facing me. The typical, "clean yourself before you enter" board is hung on it, as it's decorated with many ornaments scenting the essence to be Christmas. I hid the book in my purse as I tightened the hold on the strap of it. I knock twice, putting my usual smile face on. I hear the sounds of footsteps slowly increasing as The door opens revealing The smiley-cheery face of My beloved mother.

"Kath, Where you have been, you're okay right" She stepped aside clearing the passage for myself to enter. I dust my shoes before carefully setting them aside, as I step in.
"I am fine mum, The kids just wanted me to play with them, and it was a bit hard coming home after" I will focus on being honest later. I block out the calls of my mom, as I hurdle upstairs, barging into my room, locking the door, and closing the blinds. I carefully place the book down on my black study table like a shark protecting its jewels. I hesitate before I lift the pages.
The poem is gone. There are no other language words that were there bound when I first saw the lettering on it. But it's not empty.

"In shadows deep, her heart implores,
She dances with danger, craving more.
A foolish heart, a twisted glove,
Yearning for a touch from above.

A fool in love with what's unknown,
Isn't it right, Katherine, my own?

.....

I am shocked, amazed, astonished, wordless, and breathtaken right now, should I be this excited that this book has my name on it... I am confuzzled, on the one hand, I should yank these worthless pages out the balcony, and down the toilet. On the other hand, I feel this thrill that it described me in a feeling as if it thought I was theirs. Bullshit. I am not and I will never be. But it's like this book is talking to me, speaking to me, trapping me in its spell. Luring me in. And maybe I am absurd but I want it to. What if this is talking to me? Is there another dimension, I should know of? Felt a bit absurd saying that. But this has been everything but ordinary. If it's talking to me through writing, Can I do the same? Only one way to find out.

I tighten the grip on my expensive Ink pen as I take a moment to remember my mother's old wise words.
"Don't waste the ink on unnecessary things, OK?"
Revised and learned but bound to break.
I wrote what I wanted to scream.

"Who are you, And why are you coming into my life after so long, You're like a specter from my past, haunting the edges of my thoughts with your presence. I thought I had buried those memories deep, yet you came into my life with a breeze. If you like messing with me with your poetry, why can't you come out and stand openly? Why hide cowardly, is hiding in a book your specialty? This book stored in my memories is engraved into me. Now if you're here to ruin me, I can't say if I would be surprised because maybe I do... crave this..."
...
How long should I wait? Let's give it 30 minutes. Till that, I will write my journal.

__08/01/2020__
      9:38 pm

Dear Diary, Today has been a whirlwind, I want to start speaking and maybe never stop, because a swirl of boiling emotions bolted inside me is threatening to run free. But will Mom understand? Will Ava understand? She may not believe it, tho she might just lend belief. Evie could offer support. I don't need support for something I don't want to run away from. It's like a feeling that is etched into me. No one is truthfully mine. My mother, I know she loves me with all her heart, I love her with all my heart and I am willing to sacrifice myself for her. But then, why this? That book has taken all my attention like a bizarre color standing out in a monochrome room. I want more, It's been 10 minutes since I wrote in that. Exactly 9:28. I have to wait till 10:00, And I have gotten nowhere close to it, instead all my eyes are on that. To be real, I am writing this while staring intensely at it. If someone is talking through that, they won't take so long to write right? Maybe their poetry is getting difficult to note. Anyway, It's my cue to leave and stop writing, I will just check what's written in it.
Not a graceful exit,
Yet I bid you farewell.
Not loving, but leaving,
Yours sincerely, Katherine Ellis
Thank you.

______

I rise and stroll toward the uneven wooden table, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. The dim light casts long shadows, giving the room an eerie.
I clutch the headrest of my chair, feeling the cool, worn leather beneath my fingers as I wheel it towards the table. Simultaneously, I sit down, my body sinking into the familiar contours of the seat. My fingers brush against the rough, aged pages of the book lying before me, their touch both comforting and disconcerting. I lift the cover with a sense of reverence, a ritual I've performed too many times. All that I wrote is still there, the ink unmoved by time or reflection. Yet, despite the words etched onto the paper, there's no progress, no sense of evolution. The pages stare back at me, mocking my foolish attempts for attention.

Why did I even expect something to change? Why did I hope for words to strike, as if by magic? I shouldn't be sparing my attention to this. It's all bullshit, a pointless exercise in self-delusion.
I stare at the book for what feels like an eternity before I seize the eraser with a fierce grip and I erase all the words I wrote. I lighten my grip of mine on the eraser as I let it fall.

I scoffed as I closed the book placing it in the armoire. Turning around, I wheeled myself back to the bed on the chair. Shaking my head, I rose and began preparing my bed for slumber. My attention shifts when I hear my mom's first calls for supper turning into two, as I hazily get up from the floor and glance at the armoire one last time to double check of my surety. My mind gets clouded with questions as I find it hard to stand. Am I that desperate for something, that I am trying to find it in that book...?...Is my search for meaning so futile that I turn to empty pages and faded ink for solace? I am so lost...

My face held an automatic frown. If I had never become desperate for anything in my life, this book wouldn't be the first. I strolled towards the armoire, swung it open, clutched the book, and dragged it to the window. With a swift motion, I flung it out the window.

"There, since you love running away, I provide you freedom. Now never fucking come back," I called out to it, feeling a mix of anger and liberation. Silly me, it's just a book. It's not mine neither—

"Katherine?" A voice interrupted my thoughts. I almost forgot, I have to go.