O flower that waves a miserable life [ FIRST DRAFT]

/

It's 8:30 p.m. I can finally take a break from school, people and my average city life. It's not that I somehow really hated living in a big house overlooking other huge buildings, it's just that this style of being was a bit overwhelming for me. Fortunately, now I could at least disappear for a fortnight. I was a child of the internet. That's the truth, constant instagram notifications from girls at school who wanted to go out, from guys who thought I'd let loose and party like them. My parents drove me to my grandmother's in the countryside. They wanted to spend May by themselves. I didn't blame them for this act, in fact I was grateful to them for it. To them, I was to be the perfect son who always, but always, had to give himself fully to them, be ready to make every sacrifice for the sake of their reputation. I make no secret of the fact that I sometimes imagined myself strangling my mother with that disgusting tie she gave me for my sixteenth birthday. Her life belonging to her son. Then I started thinking about my ''father'', although no, he was a parent, the title of father has to be earned. I wanted to castrate him for the way he treated my grandmother, after all he was the reason she still has a big scar on her face today. Going back to my father, I wouldn't have had any chance of winning against him, that monster had served a very long time in the army. I myself was not in poor shape, but I was not going to deceive myself and others that I was as athletic as Achilles. I wrote these words down in my green notebook then sat down in front of the computer. This house, this room, this was all my real home, this was where my grandmother and I felt comfortable. Out of the corner of my eye I glanced at the old radio that stood on the windowsill. I decided to listen to some evening programme, as I used to do as a child. I tilted the antenna accordingly, plugged the radio in and switched it on. For a while, there was a humming noise that hurt my eardrums mercilessly, but fortunately, after maybe thirty seconds, I caught the signal of a station. I sat down in front of the computer again and started to listen in.
- Hello dear May visitors! How was your first day in this utopia? - announced a young man. I deduced that he was young by his voice and speaking style.
- 'It's 8:42 p.m. and we're starting our evening broadcast of "Radio Black Water" with a slight delay, I'm Michal Wodzirski and today I'm going to tell you about a story I heard at the last mass on Sunday,' he continued.
Sometimes I forget how religious small Polish villages are, such places are just asking for controversy. Since childhood, I used to compare every human existence into a performance or a film, perhaps because my life was just changing masks and moving on to the next acts, but about the performance itself I had a different feeling. It was to end tragically.
- It all started with some woods where the body of a little girl was found three months ago. Unfortunately I didn't hear her name so I can't share that with you. Moving on, this murderer must have come back, these grandmothers told of people starting to see the dismembered bodies of animals, and their guts left on doormats. A truly horrific sight. They also added that one of the altar boys had tried to take his own life, he had some runes painted on his forehead in blood and the head of a goat, I also suspect that this might have something to do with monsters. Maybe some kind of possession? Well, so much for my story. Now I'm going to start taking calls from listeners who may also have some interesting information to share that will allow us to ''get closer'' to solving this case,'' he concluded his monologue.
What a ridiculous thing to say - the people of this village really had water instead of brains, they live in constant fear of monsters, demons and I don't know what else, but they never thought that the biggest monsters on this Earth are other people or who knows, maybe even ourselves? After a while, someone apparently decided to get so ridiculous and call.
- Good evening. My name is Stanislaw Piechórski, have I reached 'Radio Black Water'? - announced an old man, you could tell from his voice that he was something between 75 and 80 years old.
- Yes, that's right, are you calling about the story I have just told?
- Yes, I am also in possession of some photographs that were mentioned in the story. Is it possible for me to send them to you somewhere? I am always happy to share what I have captured with young people. You have your whole life ahead of you, and I'm such an old geezer - I can only provide you with a little entertainment for May Day.
- Yes, of course you can send it somewhere, for example on our new Facebook group, the name is 'Secrets of Blackwater'.
- Thank you very much, I can handle this Facebook thing thankfully, my darling granddaughter showed me how to use these apps.
- I am pleased to hear that, is that all or do you have anything else to add? - Mr Michael giggled. You can see that he was bored by this conversation about nothing with the old man, to tell you the truth - me too, but still, from experience I knew that even the most boring conversations could completely change course in a second and become full of dark, sometimes even dripping with blood facts and secrets.
- Yikes, I apologise terribly to you and all the listeners, I get too worked up about trivia. Back on topic, I have heard that strange satanic signs can be found in our forest, and other suspicious things can be found in the field at the Village Hall. I cannot confirm this myself, as I have not seen these wonders and oddities. If some youngster here is brave enough he himself can go and send us pictures. Anyway, I have to hang up now, but I hope I have helped at least a little - these words were followed by silence again.
- Well, thank you Mr Stanislaw for this valuable information. However, dear listeners, remember that you have to be very careful when exploring like this, especially at night. Keep in mind that some things are better left to adults and preferably to the appropriate services, it is nothing to be ashamed of, it is not worth risking your life. See you tomorrow at a slightly earlier time, maybe I won't be late this time! - The radio programme has ended.
Radio silence. That's what happened. I turned off the radio, then took a scrap of paper of some sort and started writing down in bullet points:
1. the altar boy's suicide attempt.
2. the forest and the carcass of a little girl.
3. the dismembered bodies of animals and the guts on the doormats.
4. The forest again, signs of satanism.
5. the field at Soltys'?
It was all some kind of sickness, the poor animals, although so was the girl, her life was just beginning and was already over, now she was already in the hands of the worms who were consuming her. I took a notepad and pen in my hand and began to search for my zipped bag containing a painting by Claude Monet. It didn't take me long because it was lying under the bed. I threw a pen and notepad into it, but that wasn't all I wanted to take. I needed my headphones, something to drink, my camera, my phone, a torch and something for self-defence. So I took an old lemon drink in an even older bottle, the camera was in my rucksack so I had to search for it a bit in the clutter, the phone and headphones were on my bed so there was no problem with them. The only thing left was something for self-defence, I knew I would have to go to my grandmother's room anyway, if not to get a gun then to ask permission to go out at night. So I threw my bag over my shoulder and then walked up to the computer and I unplugged it and switched it off completely, I watched it turn from a colourful, colourful image of Van Gogh's sunflowers into overwhelming blackness and nothingness. It could be seen as an allegory of growing up, or at least I thought so. Childhood is supposed to be like a beautiful summer's dream, like watching a divine city skyline, like that one holiday with your family that you'll never forget, like the blood of your enemy on your hands trickling down to the floor while you lick your hands as if you've actually finished eating one of the best dinners ever. You feel like you're the one in control, and just when you're alone you admit that it turned you on. Coming back, childhood is supposed to be fun, it's supposed to manipulate us, to tell us that everything in the world is good, only to then hit you with everything that wasn't so good: rape, death, betrayal, false friendship and all the other monsters we were meant to know when childhood ended. I walked away from the old, gilded desk and started towards the exit of the room, turned off the light and closed the creaking door that probably remembered more than one war. The room where my grandmother sat was on the ground floor, next to the kitchen. I threw myself at a run up the stairs and crept through the kitchen. When I stood in front of her door, she herself had already opened it; she didn't look angry, but she wasn't very happy about my loud arrival outside the room either.
- By the gods! What has happened? Why did you run in here like a herd of scampering mammoths? - she giggled.
I loved my grandmother's laughter, and she laughed rarely because she only laughed in front of me, her cat Ivuni, my dogs Tina and Tosi, who always went everywhere with me because my parents couldn't take them on holiday. After what happened to her in her teenage life, she lost the ability to feel certain emotions, a void was left in their place.
- The thing is, I heard this story on the radio about satanic signs in this village and animal carcasses on doormats, a gentleman announced that clues about this matter could be found in our forest and in the field at the Village Head, I came to you for permission to go out and for something for self-defence - I lowered my head ready for a long sermon, but what my grandmother did was an absolute surprise to me.
- 'I'll let you, but you're supposed to get home no later than ten minutes after midnight, and as for weapons I'll give you some pepper spray, a pocket knife and my grandfather's shotgun. You just have to look after yourself, understood young man? - she asked threateningly.
- Yes, Madam General! - I reflexively put my hand on my chest as a sign of promise.