I
have had so many eyes staring on me. Eyes of different shapes, colours and
sizes. No matter where I go – be it America or Asia – people would cast their
eyes on me, unmoving, until I walked past them quickly. It would be easy to
avoid several glares from people but if you were the centre of attention of any
given place, it’s almost impossible.
But
I’m used to it now. I wasn’t born this way – wasn’t born to appear different to
many people just so they could see me as a walking freak of nature. It was
because of an incident – too painful for me to let the memories flood in again.
I had sealed the tap to that one.
Right
then, as I was walking on the cobbled pavement, I let my head droop
horizontally to the ground, staring at the small, sharp rocks that made a
crunching noise whenever the soles of my shoes brushed against them – while
people stared at me instead.
Taking
a brief moment to take a look at the vista in front of me, I noticed the two
women in front of me – they had side glances at me while one of them had her
hands covering her mouth as her head turned to the other woman. They were
whispering fiercely, their hushed noises too muffled for me to hear what they
were saying. But I knew. They were talking about me. Women needed their gossip.
“Mummy,
why is his face like that? Mummy, he looks scary.” A voice filled my ears. It
was the voice of a young boy, a few metres away from me, who was holding a
woman’s hand who I presumed was his mother.
“Hush
now, Elijah. Don’t be rude to the old man.” The woman gave me an apologetic
expression – nodding her head as if to apologise for her son’s curiosity – as
she dragged the boy till they turned into another street and wasn’t in my sight
anymore. That was nice of her. Those
kind of occasions were rare.
Walking
further without any specific destination in mind, I stopped in front of a patch
of land – where there were dried leaves scattered all over and some wooden
cardboards lying. As I sucked in a short breath, I stepped onto the grass and
crouched down – as my eyes covered the whole area.
I
subconsciously touched the huge scar on my face. I lightly caressed the rough
surface – as my forefinger traced the bumps – the skin all wrinkled and dry
which no longer held its elasticity. The doctor had told me to take cultural
epidermal autograph as a coverage treatment for the burnt wound after the
incident happened but I refused as my mind could not imagine the amount of
money needed, let alone me holding onto the physical hard, cold cash.
Well,
I could have, if not for the fact that the notes burnt with my wife and two
children.
A
sudden wave of regret hit the shores of my heart and engulfed it whole. It felt
like the exterior of my heart was slowly being ripped off – skin by skin, vein
by vein. It felt as if a blunt pencil had managed to force itself into the
centre of my heart, pushing itself harder each time. A vice-like grip seemed to
have hold onto it and was on the verge of crushing it. It was pure torture. It
wasn’t a heart attack; I was suffering from my own emotional pain.
Everyone,
every single loved one was gone now. My wife, Katherine, my two young boys,
Nathan and James; five and seven years of age respectively – now no longer in
the face of this Earth. All because of me. Me. My fault. Mine. The world
suddenly grew silent as the clouds gathered above me – so grey and dull like
the depths of my despair. A water drop hit the tip of my nose and I soon came
to realise that it was drizzling. One by one, the drops pelted onto me –
getting harder and harder each time as if to punish me for what happened two
years ago. Tears were already streaming down my face then, masked by the rain.
The world hated me and I deserved it.
And
then the thunder. The sound of it was explicitly familiar. Like the explosion.
The explosion which had awoken me from my slumber, only to find out that my
wife and sons were trapped in a fire behind the master bedroom door. Too little
too late.
So
why didn’t I sense the fire any sooner? Couldn’t I have felt the heat it was
emitting? Why didn’t I hear the crackling sounds? I was always sensitive to
them – my ears would perk up to the slightest clink of a teacup – indicating
the end of my afternoon nap and the start of tea time. So why did God turned me
into a deaf man sleeping that day? Did He want to punish me for hurting Kate?
Was it His way of telling me that what happened was all because of me? Because
if it was, He convinced me.
As
the harsh winds grazed my skin, flashes of memories of the fire came out from
its hiding place in the socket of my brain – as the vivid frames of the
incident started playing in my mind like a whole short film – replaying over
and over again as if to taunt. The fiery colours – red, orange, yellow – blazed
my eyes and it seemingly felt as if I was standing right there in the bedroom.
The crackling fire resounded in my ears, the sound of chipping wood so palpable
each time the fragments hit the porcelain floor.
“Kate!
Nath! James!”
“Nathan!
James! Scream out, I can’t see you!” The smoke compressed in the small room,
like a bunch of thickets growing very close together in hugely dense forest,
congesting any form of oxygen into my lungs. I was running out of air as I took
in a series of short breaths while letting out rasps of cough. My lungs felt
like they were about to collapse any moment. Breathing had never felt so
painful.
Clutching
onto my chest, I took a last bet – still holding onto that thin string of hope
that my family members were still alive – and dived into the raging hot fire.
“Harr-harrum-harrumph.
Kate…?” My voice trailed off as the heat around me suddenly rocketed and I
realised that I was in contact with the fire. It was no use avoiding – the fire
had circled me and I had no escape. My knees were getting weaker and I was on
the verge of passing out. My throat was getting too dry while my eyes welled up
with tears due to the smoke particles floating in the direction opposite of
mine. Giving up then would be the best option. I had already lost my family.
There was no use fighting for my life.
I
dropped to the ground. My world turned pitch black.
Something
jolted in me and I returned to the present. Turned out, I hadn’t screw the tap
to the particular memory properly. I was still crouching on the patch of grass –
though this time – my hands were gripping onto the soil as I leant forward for
support. Raindrops hit and wet the palms of my hands. Or maybe they were my teardrops.
I
took a last glance at the land where my house used to stand and wiped the tears
off my cheeks. It was no use now. Everything I have ever loved was gone, and no
angel was going to come down from the heavens for my own salvation. I had to
accept the fact that there never will be an eraser for the past. But there was
also no exit for the memory of the fateful night when it all started between
Kate and I. It will always haunt me.
“Katherine,
I have something to tell you…” She looked at me with woeful hazel eyes,
shifting uncomfortably at the sound of me calling her by her full name.
“What
is it Ethan? Is it regarding Nathan’s poor school report?” She replied, her
eyes still lingering on me. Why did she think that I was going to start talking
on our son’s poor report? She knew I didn’t bother with such trivial matters.
Was it because she had already found out and was just suggesting something else
to convince herself that everything was alright between the both of us?
“I-I
have an affair. With your best friend, Maeve. We-we honestly thought it’d never
come to this. She had no intention that it would become what it already has. I’m
sorry; I never meant to hurt you. I just felt that this marriage never
flourished. I’ll leave you to decide on what you want to happen next.” Not
willing to see any tears or screaming, I placed my teacup on my saucer and left
the table for my afternoon nap.
I
never woke up from my nap peacefully that day. Kate had already set the fire. The
bottle of gasoline on the kitchen cupboard was gone. It was all nothing but
suicide. She didn’t have to take Nathan and James with her. But it was never
her fault. She didn’t deserve such hurtful words.
I
was always going to be blamed. And I fully deserved it.
Author's Note: I wrote this in the midst of inspiration and never really planned the storyline. I didn't really edit after writing (too lazy and busy) so there might be some mistakes in grammar. I do appreciate constructive comments and how I can improve my writing! I know this plot is quite common and cliche but for me, this piece was more for the fact that I haven't really written anything for so long. So, hope you guys enjoy it!
