"You've been living a lie your whole life. Don't you want to avenge yourself from the people who kept you from the truth?"
"I don't know where to begin."
"Well, it's really easy. First, you have to become one of us."
Peril has yet again taken over t...
I badly want to take you guys to that part already hekehk jk it's not really the real bomb here. Things are just getting started here.
I am so happy and grateful for the positive and active responses from my readers so far! ILY guys! You motivate me everyday and I hope you won't give up on me or in this book. I am so excited to write the next chapters.
Anyways! I just want to give you all a heads up that this story contains strong language, violence, and sensitive information. I hope I don't have ten year-olds reading this because if yo mama's gonna catch you reading this, say bye bye to your phone.
Okay, enough with the note let's get back to the real deal here.
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THURSDAY; 10:20:49 AM
I gently laid down a bouquet of white and red roses onto the Bermuda grass as I sat down. I fixed the pleats of my skirt and positioned myself to comfort. I breathed in cool air and huffed warm air. I felt the wind crashing smoothly in my hair, making strands float along with its direction. I was seated underneath the tree, where there's a perfect amount of shade to cover me from the sun.
Softly, I ran my hand on the name beautifully carved on the surface of the tombstone. My heart ached so bad, abyssal pain prominently striking onto the weakest and most vulnerable spot. Even until today, it still haunts me. When I sleep, when I wake up, and even when I am busy doing work, there is not day where pain lets me forget about it. The arrant frustration that constantly takes over my mind.
"Mom, I wish you were here." I crooned, as I have always been. "I miss you so much."
Seventeen years have passed but not a single memory of her had visited my head. It hurts me the most thinking I can't even remember my very own mother's face. We have photographs. I saw her smile. But it doesn't really count as a memory. I don't know what it felt like to be held in her arms. I don't know what it felt like to sleep next to her. I don't know a lot of things about her. It just really agonizes me so much.
The only remembrance I had of her was her voice. I can still recall it. I sometimes intentionally listen to it all night long. Her, calling my name. My mother, calling me from wherever she is.
"I. . . I didn't get accepted from my dream company, Mom. I thought I was r-really. . . going to get it." I said in a shaky voice. I was trying to hold my composure. I didn't want her to see me crying. I didn't want to disturb her from her eternal sleep.
I looked the picture frame next to the tombstone and talked to it as if it was her. "I'm alive, if you must know. I'm thankful and I'm happy with who I have become now. I wish you're proud of me."
Every now and then, I think of how was it like to be a little girl, to be innocent and free from the cruelty of the world. My childhood felt like it was completely wiped out by a hurricane. It left no trace of any beautiful moments. It passed by for a very short time yet it erased priceless and valuable memories I am oblivious of. There has to be, right?
