Towerlee

“Blood! Blood! All that my eyes captured was blood in her gown. It is crimson sparkled all over her blonde face …”: the husband shrilled .half nauseous, inevitably aghast. Those were his last words, his last visual view and the last facial expression he could make. Before he was stabbed right in the lordosis. Just like the old saying:

“Blood is thicker than water but family can stab you in the back “

November 2nd, 2002

In a place of hate where love does not appear at any cost, all who lives here hated each other since forever and no one has ever thought to alter that, in fact people unconsciously support this ideology of being judged than understood, being ruined than saved, sad rather than happy, pessimist over optimist, hated but not loved.

Mr.mackery who is a towering blond man who seem to be indifferent about what other people used to say about him and still saying. He was an old part of this town, one of the trivial characters of Towerlee, an uncle to two nephews who has been raised by him- alone ,they lost their parents in a in a mysterious way in which they gazed themselves exhaling the last breathe

Since then Leo and I lived with our uncle. A strict serious bloke, deniable, charming but he was not the funny cool type, however he has a dark sense of humour, he works as an editor in day and night newspaper. and all the people, the neighbours mainly did not pay attention to him rather looked at him as if he was a misfit, he didn’t have many friends , or he didn’t have any one at all, he spent most of his life working and taking care of us and that is all I can remember of him.

One of the usual long winter night, the rain was pouring. Leo wakes up from his sleep; blustering, screaming, mumbling, scratching his pillow with his sharp nails, the yells frightened me, even though I was still awake. Looking through the window having the urge of going out, since it was around 11 pm. I looked at him to see his face sweating, his fair hair turned into spiky and his eyes about to come out, like the dream couldn‘t be more real. I Shockley said, and in the back of my head I had this déjà vu image: “what is it this time mate? Is it the same nightmares you have been having since that day ? Were you in a dark place and ghost running after you? Is it the serial killer again?

Or you were drowning in an ultimate ocean and you cannot breath, which one Leo?

Leo in very quiet non-understanding voice murmured: “this one is quite different, and I’m scared for real that something bad might happen to me. And I am too fragile for this kind of creatures, I am even too weak for humans, I am not as courage as you, I can’t walk alone at night without being afraid, yet I’m old enough, I’ m 17 years old already, but I can barely face this big world, by world I mean this devilish town. As small as it is but with all the sins and the hate that it carries, it feels so heavy and big like an entire oppressive world”

Leo always had a way with words especially in difficult situations. He could be very wordy, as he could be Joseph Conrad of his own time.

Few minutes passed with his mouth zipped, as if he was contempt or afraid. And I am still waiting for him to tell me about the nightmare. Because that what Leo does after every nightmare he had. We used to sit by the edge of the window looking at the empty street. Usually admiring the streetlights and their reflections on the wet ground. When it is a rainy night. After he sight for the second time he said : “ you know : all I want is to be free from burden, pain, insecurities, that stop me from doing what I dreamed of my entire life, I want to believe that I’m capable, that I can, that I will.”

I put my hand on his left shoulder. He looked me up in the face and I saw his eyes, that show sadness but yearning for happiness. He seemed so angry expecting me to say something that would make him feel any less sad or painless but I could not as every time. Nothing that people can say might mend anything, but actions actually can. It has been always this way.

I just asked him: “let it out of you, tell me about it. What was it this time?”

It was really hard for him to speak of it. However, he eventually declared : “I dreamed of mum and dad. They warned me they asked me to step away from a deep hole in the woods. I did not listen to them like any stupid teenager boy and kept chasing something, I did not know what was it, but it looked delightful and wraps with lights. Like something from heaven but mum was screaming her heart out: “step back, it‘s a trap!” I did not listen, then I fell in the pit before I could grab it, something was dragging my feet down, taking me mercilessly and I felt it in my thighs, like a monster, it reached my neck and choke me!”

Before I could say anything there was someone knocking on our chamber door, it was more of a gentle tapping. I knew that was my uncle so I asked him to enter. He walked in making no noise. His long face was as usual nobody can ever read it, and his blue eyes were so shiny, they always reminded me of my father. He instantly take a chair with his left hand and sat down, putting his both elbows in his thighs, his hands crossed in his chin. He looked up at me ,and at my brother and again at me , I knew that something happened , probably something terrible, he turned my doubts into undeniable facts when he said:“ aren’t you listening to the radio? An awful murder happened today. Next to our neighbourhood. An old lady …”

Before he could finish his words. My brother without even thinking, he jumped to the cupboard where we usually put the radio. He opened the doors and finally brought it out. Switched it on and turned up the volume. The radio host was describing the bitter awfulness scene of the murder. Then kept talking his heart out like if he knows the victim personally: “May she rest in peace, a good soul has left Towerlee today. I know many of us have encountered her, and see her pure kindness. Seems like all the good people leave this miserable unstable place early and all the devilish ones remain.”

He got me thinking of my parents. Connecting them to what he just said .That may seem very cliché but makes sense. My mum was an angel on earth, she was innocently beautiful, all the neighbours had loved her spontaneously, and she was not talkative. However, she was so caring! She used to check on everyone every morning, one of the adorable deeds she used to do. She was too caring even for complete strangers, having a glamour face and heavy heart. Her words were nicely sharp. People had never taken her as being nosey, contrary they liked to tell her about their daily plans and special events of their day therefore, she wish them luck, advise them mainly. I remember her standing on the doorsteps with her usual cup of coffee. She adored coffee! Nevertheless, hated tea. She used to wave to us whenever we leave the house with her left hand, holding the warm mug filled with light black coffee with her right .

The radio host stopped my truck of memories when he started stating the awful way the victim was murdered saying: he puts the dagger right in her chest aiming to hurt her so bad like the hate of the killer can be felt in the gesture, made her bleed until she dried out”