Trapped in Imagination

Thorn

Inside the library, the air was dense with a tapestry of stories, each corner whispering of knowledge and history. Dust clung at the edge of the dark wood, as the young lad roamed the aisles, his fingers brushing against the spines of ancient tomes, searching for a perfect book for him, yet ended up defeated.

With a heavy sigh, he turned to leave, but a throbbing pain in his head halted his moves. He stood, feeling the sting like being injected repeatedly. He bit his lips in frustration and he reached out to steady himself, but stumbled on a series of books—creating a loud thud that disturbed the deafening silence.

Palms pressed against his temples, fingers digging into his own skin, with deep breaths that gradually ceased the pain, but not before he gathered the fallen books, returning them to their place. As he placed the last book in a vacant space, a sudden breeze swept through and a paper flew away from its pages. He was left agape as he crouched down to retrieve it. The paper was ancient, the edges worn and ripped, and it felt rough and rust-like crafted in wood with dry coffee stains. It contained rhythmic words with letters scribbled romantically. As he read those words again, an unsettling feeling swept in him.

“Young man,” a soft voice whispered behind his ear, yet sent shivers down his spine. His head turned and found an old lady.

“Aunty, you scared me,” he said, but her attention was not on him.

“This is the last piece before the writer passed away,” she began. “It was for his girlfriend that demised. It contains his confession for her.”

“So the writer must be romantic to do such an act,” he commended, but she shook her head.

“Not exactly. Love is deceiving and dangerous. We never know what one might do to get another.” His face crumbled down in confusion at her words.

She turned her face to the young lad and said, “You should see for yourself, Cain.”

All that he heard before darkness invaded him completely.

The sound of horse hooves and distant chatter filled his ears, with unfamiliarity between them. Even the coarse stones pressed against his soles were different from the soft plush carpets he stepped on. He opened his eyes, and was welcomed by the merged buildings and a piece of paper beside him. Where am I?

He looked around the bustling market with the scented aroma from different foods filled the air. The magnificent structures incredibly craved the floral patterns and supernatural deities. At his right, the “Città Morta” is carved in the signage. He then walked away from the middle of the crowded road, still with questions in his mind. He saw the paper flow in thin air and tried to catch it but a man with a mustache caught it. For some reason, he was familiar.

“Thank you, Bhaiya.”

“Anytime. Oh, your brown orbs are fantastic like mine.” the main replied with a grin before walking away with a woman, their hands clasped together.

Despite nothing suspicious between them aside from their sweetness, he followed them due to his intuition—until they reached a house wherein the stones were meticulously stacked and a roof patch of mossy slate tiles. On the left was a single round table with two antique bronze metal garden chairs.

He hid in a bush and waited despite the outcome. The man stood up from his seat, revealing an ancient paper and a single rose. The lady’s eyes sparkled in delight as she squealed and kissed his cheek.

“In a garden where thorns and petals entwine, you’re like a rose that stands so fine. Your beauty entranced me, igniting a spark in my being, I only want you for my feeling. If not, you’ll leave on slicing,” the man recited with rich emotions.

As the sweetness enveloped them, it shattered. The atmosphere turned heavy, and her scream filled the area. With a swift motion, he revealed a sharp object that tangled her hair and sliced his love into bits. Upon witnessing the scene, Cain’s body froze, shock coursing through him as he witnessed this scene.

The policemen came rushing, but Cain felt immobilized, unable to follow the criminal that disappeared into chaos with a smirk etched on his face as their eyes met. Instead, he was left in disbelief as the officers said, “The famous writer, Mr. Cain Sengar, you are under arrest for murdering Ms. Kavya Iyer.”