The Lasting Days Of Samantha Piper

14- Just A Piece of Geography

I dreamt of Samantha again. A metaphorical dream.

And I do believe in metaphors.

Being swallowed by the tides of heaven, as Shantelle would call it, is not the same as being swallowed by the pull of the deep ocean. It was much darker, with just a little portion of air to breathe; or worse, nothing to breathe at all. Being eaten by the idea that Samantha is already fleeting in my mind is that kind of worse. I have walked this Earth for ages with her, now I'm not sure if I'm still capable of evolution. Of moving on. Of letting her go.

I don't really know how.

"I love you."

Even though we were together, those beautiful tragic words never escaped my mouth.

She did not know.

That was what's bothering me ever since she was gone.

Time stole her from me. This cruel world forbade my confession of love. Now she's gone and fading in my mind.

The thought of not remembering her existence crushes my heart more than everything.

The chances.

The moments.

The running.

Yes, they are already passing away in my mind...

...and that terrifies my heart more than ever.

I don't want to move on.

That was the problem.

. . . . . . . .

Saturday Afternoon.

From the bush across the street, Shantelle and I hatched the plan of how to get inside of Brandon's supreme size mansion. It's funny that the house looks more quite and at peace at morning than at night. Somehow, there are no passerby's and no dogs to bark at us like those in epic fail agent movies. And most of all, it looks like there is no one home, except maybe of a maid or a cook.

I am aware that the Lennon family owns a couple of luxurious cars in their underground garage but most of the time Bradley parks his car outside the house, and his sports car is nowhere visible at sight. I think it's safe to say he's not around. Especially on a Saturday night with all the lavish, popping parties popular guys like him could attend to.

Well anyway, these are all assumptions. And there's only one way to confirm all this.

"You ready?" I look behind me and catch a glimpse of Shantelle stretching the hem of the black turtle neck I made her wear. "Are you okay?"

She looked at me and raised her eyebrow, one of her favorite things to do since like forever. For our years of friendship, it took me time to recognize it as a sign of her saying "You're crazy. And I'm on it." Since the mission was to make us look like ninja's, Shantelle was forced to wear black leggings which I guess irritates her more than anything else. She's not comfortable with tight cloth that is why she prefers wearing double layered fluffy vintage dresses.

We head on foot within the endless shades of huge trees, catching speed as we meet the mansion's backyard. Slowly, I lift Shantelle until she is finally aboard a window shaft. I used my hands to indicate to her to quietly lower down the emergency escape stairs. As she hand it over to me from above, it made a maddening sound as the folded stairs clicked into the ground. We should've been more careful. We waited for whoever is inside the house to notice the sound, or some alarm to blast off.

Luckily, just luckily, there is none. Thank goodness.

I climb the stairs and Shantelle offered me a hand. As we stood side by side in front of the small window, we checked our perimeter if there's any security cameras but we found nothing so we proceeded on entering the window, gently lifting the window pane and tearing though the curtains.