Marcus Diaries | A Collection of One Shot Stories

Elle: A Tale To Tell

The evening was just ordinary, but this time it belonged to the full shadows and stillness. I burrowed myself to the warm, soft sheets of my bed. Still rubbing the remainders of sleep from my eyes, my thought was to gaze out the window; the only dusk extended across the sky as glitters of little suns accompanied it. People might have considered this view a beautiful one, but I find it strange to look at something we see every night, every day. It had been happening since time immemorial.

Swoosh!

A touch of frost ran down my spine. I climbed out my bed, feeling the chilliness of my bare feet as it touches the timber flooring. My eyes are still stuck to somewhere void as reality started to weigh so heavy. Outside, mist enveloped the once was crystal clear panoramic view of the village. Crickets and little chatters from somewhere were the only ones rented the air.

Boring, I thought to myself. A bolt of second leaped, and a sudden pang of gloom ascended to my system. I miss my daughter, Elle. It has been years since that day happened. Almost two generations had passed, and people are still confused and left unanswered when Elle Martinez, my only sunshine's last hour has come. No one knows why. No one even dared to ask why.

A vivid memory flashed through my mind.

It was a quiet night. I was preparing the stew she asked me to cook. I could not feel any happier seeing my daughter be in high spirits when cooking her favorite food. As much as she tried consoling the bliss, her eyes speak otherwise. It screams delight, lighting up my day no matter how dark it was.

"Mom, I want the stew you cook every weekend," she said. Her voice echoed the still atmosphere of our little home. She giggled as she was holding the tears of delight from her eyes. I had my breath behind my pursed lip to resist from the call of laughter. Her eyes got mine.

"Okay, okay," I replied. I thought for a moment. My girl was like a flower that blooms on a sunny day, the kind of flower that anyone would choose to pick because of the radiance and optimism it brings.

"I'll be back, mom. I left my books in Tina's place, and I have to get it."

"—At this hour? The sun has already set, my darling." I protested.

"Sorry, mom. I forgot. I need it for our examination tomorrow," her brows wrinkled. She bit his lip.

"Okay. Just take care." I let out a condescending smile.

"Anyway, mom, please take your meds," she added.

Everything was just ordinary, except she succumbed to death. I was devastated. The desolation I felt was consuming all the pieces inside me. The bare wind screamed in my soul so loud it almost stopped my heart from beating. There was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, and nothing left but only emptiness that covered my mind in swirling blackness.Then, I only found myself in the area where it all happened. The blue and red lights of the patrol cars illuminated amidst the heavy pouring rain, while wretchedness and guilt devoured my state of mind, waters also washed my skin that it felt like I was in the flow of a river rather than a rain shower. I could not feel my breathing. I was taken aback, in vain, while her body was laid lifeless in the soaked corner. Her raven hair was all over the place, stained with the blood of crimson. Her brown eyes and mouth were left open, screaming something that no one could have ever heard. I could not have been judgmental about the situation, but it smelled stench and rust at the same time. My heart pounded heavily as one question raced my mind: Who the hell did this?

Elle. The radiance in the town's desolation now crossed the bridge of demise. She was the splendor amidst the village's dried oak leaves; she was the villager's spark of hope and bliss; she was extraordinary to everybody.

It has been years, and no one exactly knows why. However, men under these blue uniforms still visit me as I continually mourn and loathe myself for what happened that day. They were still even visiting the same corner where her body was laid upon, as they persistently furrow their gazes in search of any hints and answers that underlie the profound mystery.

Suicide. One answered.
Homicide. Some presumed.
She was maybe a criminal. Others hypothesized.

Who would have anything against such a naive, fine-looking 19-year-old girl?

One day, after the years of sleepless nights and blank moments I spent with my neverending self-loathing, ears had perked up as the recently found news of my daughter's death spread like wildfire. A knock on the door had shed hope to all my unanswered questions—now finally be given a conclusion.

The previous passages of the time were spent with I am sorry for your loss, you are a brave mother, and God may bless you. The emotional support, material comfort, and the like flooded our house to remember my daughter's life that now left gaps in our village.

The autopsy returned with no internal damage, but only with wounds and marks out of
strangulation.

Suicide? Homicide? Crime? No one knows why. But one thing is for sure— everyone wants to know what happened. The uniformed men tapped my back to offer me reassurance that today, everything is under control, and one day, it will all make sense.

But, little did they know that the death of my daughter was, in fact, not an accident. Who on earth would know?

She was both the ecstasy and comfort of everyone. I could not dare to witness her triumph.

Pity you all, but it was I.