Good Evil and I

The Past is Fake

"Which villa are you headed for?" asked the security guard at the main gate of the community.

"Villa 111" I replied.

I saw the guard dial up someone and talk for a few moments and immediately signaled the other guard to open the gates and let me in. I gestured a slight thank you as I drove past. Suddenly, a huge vibration jolted my peacefully sleeping sister right onto her toes. Her phone was ringing and my guess was that it was my mother. We were running a little late and I'm sure they just want us to come home soon.

The phone was connected to the car so I could hear my mom speak, her voice sounding slightly hurried, I'm guessing she was pacing herself around the house arranging all the things for our visit. I don't get it, I mean we aren't just simply guests, she needn't lay out so much, we are family too but I guess ingrained practices don't wear off easily. My parents were of a native Telugu origin, roots ingrained very deep into this South Indian soil.

"Where are you guys? We've been waiting for you guys for two hours. Come home directly, no more stops." My mom went on rambling about as we drove through the gated community to reach their home. Soon, as we reached our destination, I got out of the door, ran over to the passenger's door to help my pregnant sister get out. When I saw our parents come outside the house, I was almost 90 percent sure they just wanted to meet my sister and see how she was doing. My parents were laughing about something alongside my sister as I went to pull out the baggage and gifts from the trunk.

As I walked in, I noticed the blooming fragrant flowers in the front porch, beautifully grown out and decorating the entrance with vibrant colors. My parents were talking about my aunt's daughters and how our nephews and nieces were growing up and how they were excited to be grandparents now. I guess Indian parents never end being parents. I followed my way into the house, turning back one last time to look at the one flower that was wilting among those blooming bouquets of flowers...

"Alright, I am sorry I was a bit late, I hope you didn't wait too long."

The voice of a brisk authoritative female shook me from my thoughts as I slowly turned to look at her. My hands were shackled to the chair and my feet were tied up together and then tied to the chair. There was a slight numbness all through my legs. The rustic table in front of me was giving a very bland, shoddy reflection of my lumpy body, it was not a welcoming sight. I looked at the doctor with her pen in her hands and the notepad on the desk, cross legged and sitting a few feet away from me. There were about six guards around the room and I could feel those six pairs of eyes on me.

I moved my head forward extending my neck and said, "Fuck off" as I went to spit at her. Two of the guards threw me smack down as one of them pulled out a huge wooden stick and kept bashing at my body. The other one just kicked at me randomly angrily shouting "Chup kar bey" with the touch of an Urdu mixed Hyderabadi accent Hindi to just ask me shut the fuck up as I kept sneering and giggling as the guards kept hitting me.

"Enough with that, back down" said the doctor sitting in her throne, not an inch of her body moved from place. The guards retreated to the edges of the room as I tried to sit up on the ground, now that the chair was destroyed. There were a few aches through my body and a few cuts along my hand which had started to bleed. I spat on the ground, a mixture of saliva and blood stained the ground.

"How much do you remember?" asked the doctor.

"Almost everything", I replied disdainfully.

"Please, let us know, every single detail to the best of your knowledge" she said, as she sat straight and looked more attentive.

I was in a very crooked position with my hands and legs tied up, sprawled on the floor like a gigantic lizard so I indicated for help with my situation. She then nodded as one of the guards came to set me free from my bindings. As I stretched my hands, rubbing at the wrists in comfort, I sat down cross-legged to tell the tale of the one story I wanted to forget.