My Fate: A Tragic Vengeance (#Wattys2018)

Page 4 (18.04.2018)

"Dear Diary,

Sometimes I feel I am not myself, but something else, something vicious. It is like a silky darkness spreading up my neck and squeezing my soul out of my body. There are blank pages stacked inside my brain of days after days, months after months. Is this oblivion or insanity? I am afraid to think of what I do when I am not myself. Does my twin know about my illness? Is it what they call Alzheimer's disease? Is it the reason she hates me? Questions like these are always dancing in my head, well, always does not apply to my case. To me, always is a part of a big always, a chunk of some given time.

Do I read mythology when I am not quite myself? Or listen to music? Those are what I like to do when I am myself. What do I do when my consciousness leaves me?

My life is like an ocean and several parts of this dark ocean are whirling with excruciating seastorms. When I lose my swimming harmony one of the twisters in my life engulfs me, consuming every tiny bit of my memory. And when my subconscious finds it way back again, my consciousness has already been washed off completely. I feel like I was not there but my body roamed the time, breaking up the bolts which connect it with my mind.

I have often been told that I am an entirely different person most of the time, and they despise that side of me. I know my mother does not like me like that. I cannot grasp that part of my life.

I wish I was like my other half when my Alzheimer's take over me so that I would be able to fight against her, eyes into eyes, swords against swords. But that is a fantasy dram. Even I once planned to consult a doctor who could cure my illness. It was when I was fourteen and in spite of being rattlingly afraid, I hopped on a bus to his clinic. My parents were always so busy that I did not want them to waste their important time on me. Just because I am an unfortunate being does not mean I should paint everybody's life with my negative fate. So I was in front of the doctor's door when the blankness overlapped all my five senses. And the next I knew I was in my room and the date was behind three months. 

The point of me telling you this is that I may not be able to pen down all my life's memories, and stories here. I find it very difficult to chart down all the incidents that have led me here, in this situation, in this apartment, inside this closet. But one thing is clear to me, I am something else, not what meets the eyes.

I am a rumor flying in the air, a story advancing real quick. Rumors about me are everywhere. I remember when I was like ten or eleven, there was this friend I used to sit with; my twin never gets well with people so she was homeschooled, I think. Everyone knew about my disease so they did not ask me why I was absent all the time. So, I really liked that guy with yellow specs and we used to mingle pretty well. His name may be Sameer or Soumeer Bhawani, something like that.  One day we had a fight over something I forgot about and I was angry and fuming. We fought and the whole class watched us fighting. Then the next day he was absent, I did not mind, actually, nobody did. Then after a while, people started gossiping behind my back that I killed him. Seriously? So I went to the class teacher's desk and asked her about my friend. She told me he was missing. They never found him. 

I think my twin knew him. And just because he was my friend, she killed him and hid him somewhere. This memory just has me struggling for air. I cannot breathe when I think of her ruthless insanity.

She is insane, and my twin."

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A/N:

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