Home, to where it all began.
The whispers dance playfully,
teasing like a gentle tickle in the dark.
Gradually, they transform into the eerie laughter
of a moment frozen in the realm of the undead.
Little do they realize the depths of their wickedness,
the true malevolence that lurks within the heart of the city,
until Death itself comes knocking on their doorsteps.
Unknown.
I quickly packed my belongings in the trunk of my old Toyota Corolla, as the vibrant hues of orange painted the sky behind the multitude of trees that enveloped the yard. The setting sun cast a warm glow over the scene, creating a surreal ambiance that contrasted sharply with the harsh, sickening words my Aunt was hurling at me from the confines of the front porch. The two of us had spent years living together in this bustling metropolis, far removed from the quaintness of my former home in a smaller city. However, as time went on, our relationship had soured, and we had grown to despise each other. The simmering animosity between us was evident in the barbed remarks and cutting insults we traded with one another on a regular basis. Every word spoken felt like a dagger to the heart, escalating the tension that seemed to thicken the air around us. The weight of the hostility hung heavy in the atmosphere, poisoning the once-promising ambiance of our shared living space. It felt as though our emotions were trapped within the walls, suffocating us both.
Despite the toxic environment that had slowly consumed our lives, I had mustered every ounce of inner strength to endure the hardships of residing under the same roof as this cruel woman. Day after day, I pushed forward, fighting the urge to break free and escape the constant torment. All my dreams and aspirations had been overshadowed by the never-ending barrage of verbal attacks and emotional manipulation.
Living with my Aunt, who had initially seemed receptive to having her nephew as company in her lonely abode, had quickly transformed into a nightmare. Her once-welcoming demeanour had morphed into constant belittlement, deeming me an idiot, a waste of space, and even threatening to vomit in my presence, as though I was some repulsive sight to behold. The emotional abuse had taken its toll, leaving scars deep within my soul.
As the twilight settled around me, enveloping the surroundings in a soft, velvety darkness, I knew that I had to escape this oppressive atmosphere as soon as possible. The decision was weighing heavily on my mind, and I felt the weight of it give me a sense of determination that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Every fibre of my being was telling me that I couldn’t endure one more day in this toxic environment. It was time to leave behind the past and embrace the uncertainty of what lay ahead. In that moment, I cared little for the friendships I had forged during my time here, the new places and experiences that had come to define my stay, or even my position in the soul-draining, meagre paying job that had consumed so much of my time and energy. All I desired was the chance to start anew, to carve out a path that was free from the toxicity and negativity that had plagued my existence for far too long.
Placing the final item in the trunk, I closed it with determination and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, its familiar hum signalling the beginning of a journey that would span the entirety of the night. I knew it would be a long and arduous drive, overcoming fatigue and battling the darkness that surrounded me, but I was prepared to push through. The thought of arriving in the early hours of the morning did little to dissuade me. Despite the risks and uncertainties that lay ahead, there was an unwavering resolve within me, fuelled by a longing to return to the place that had become a distant memory – my forgotten home. With a purposeful gaze fixed on the road ahead, I steered the car toward the gate, silently imploring my Aunt to press the button on the remote control that would grant me passage. As the rusty metal gates swung open, I floored the accelerator, causing the tires to screech and leaving behind a billowing cloud of exhaust and dust. The smoky remnants served as a final punctuation mark to our heated argument, reflecting my adamant determination to leave it all behind me. The squealing of the tires against the asphalt was drowned out by the sound of my racing heartbeat, mirroring my eagerness to escape the grasp of my toxic environment.
As the city lights faded into the distance, I embraced the solitude of the open road. All external distractions were cast aside, as my single-minded focus became crystal clear – I needed to reach my forgotten home, regardless of the obstacles that lay in my path. The monotonous hum of the tires against the asphalt provided a rhythm, accompanying my thoughts as they danced between memories of the past and hopes for the future. I allowed myself to wander through the labyrinth of my mind, reflecting on the happier times, the innocent days spent in my childhood home. Each passing mile brought me closer to the familiar sights and comforting embrace of my parents’ house, my sanctuary from the chaos that had become my life. The stars twinkled above, casting a gentle glow that illuminated the road like a guiding light. Their presence gave me a renewed sense of hope, as though the universe was cheering me on, urging me forward. It was in those moments of solitude that I found solace, a respite from the harsh reality that had consumed my existence.
As my anger began to subside, I attempted to switch on my car radio in search of solace from the lingering frustration in my mind. However, it dawned on me that I had carelessly left my modulator at my auntie’s place, and I was already several kilometres away from town. Irritated and unwilling to turn back and confront my troublesome aunt once again, I desperately tinkered with the radio dials, hoping to catch any radio station that could keep me company during this lengthy night-time drive. Unfortunately, all I could hear was the hollow static of the radio, which would be my sole companion on this journey. Feeling let down, I made a decision to stop by the upcoming petrol station, hoping to purchase a new modulator and enjoy some music along the way. I swiftly checked my wallet and breathed a sigh of relief upon discovering that I had some extra money left after fuelling up for the long road ahead.
I pulled into the upcoming petrol station and, to my luck, found a modulator available at the small convenient shop. I paid for it and excitedly went back to my car, eagerly anticipating the joy of listening to my favourite tunes. As I drove, I struggled to open the package, wishing I had brought a pair of scissors with me. Instead, I resorted to using my teeth to forcibly open it. Finally, with the package opened, I began to focus on tuning the modulator and the radio in sync, hoping for a seamless musical experience. In the midst of adjusting the settings, my attention was unexpectedly diverted from the dark road ahead. Out of nowhere, a lady appeared, crossing the road right in front of my car. I narrowly missed hitting her but ended up skidding to the side of the road and stalling the engine. In a state of worry, I quickly jumped out of the car to check on the woman. Despite the scare, she seemed unfazed, standing on the side of the road. I introduced myself and asked for her name so that I could apologize properly. She introduced herself as Maria, a beautiful woman with a slim figure. Her hair was as black as the darkest night, her eyes as green as the canopy of a forest, and her skin was pale and radiant in the darkness of the night.
I apologized to Maria and asked if she was okay. She gave me a welcoming smile and nodded silently, assuring me that she was fine. Regrettably, I couldn’t offer her any medical attention due to my limited funds. With a tinge of reluctance, I asked if she needed a lift somewhere, fully aware of the risks involved in picking up a stranger at night. To my surprise, Maria informed me that she was heading in the same direction as I was, describing it as “back home.”
A feeling of guilt washed over me as I contemplated lying to her, claiming that my destination was not too far. In reality, where Maria wanted to go was only a few kilometres from my parents’ house. But I couldn’t bring myself to deceive her, and the guilt weighed heavily on my heart. Ultimately, I agreed to help her, knowing that it was the right thing to do despite any inconvenience it might cause. I noticed that Maria had very little on her, except for a little black diary she carried in her hands. We both got into the car, ready to embark on our impromptu journey together. As I slowly inched the car forward, it suddenly came to a halt, stuck in an awkward position with one of the wheels off the ground. I got out of the car to assess the situation, realizing that balancing it would be a challenge. In a moment of desperation, I climbed onto the trunk of the car, hoping to shift its weight and restore balance while Maria remained in the passenger seat, feeling uncomfortable with the idea of driving.
Despite my efforts, I was unable to rectify the situation, and I found myself sitting atop the trunk, deep in thought. Just as I contemplated our next move, it felt as if another presence enveloped us, perhaps a stroke of luck. The car slowly began to descend, finding its balance once more. With a sense of relief, I quickly hopped back into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Determined to put the incident behind us, I pressed firmly on the gas pedal, propelling the car forward, eager to resume our journey. Turning to Maria with a smile, I assured her that everything was now okay. She returned my smile and uttered words that filled me with comfort and hope, saying that everything would be even better once we reached our destination and found ourselves at home. With a renewed sense of purpose and a passenger by my side, I continued the drive, anticipation building within me as the road stretched out before us, leading us closer to our final destination.
As our journey went on, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude that I had Maria accompanying me on this long, seemingly endless night drive. Her mere presence alone brought a deep sense of comfort amid the eerie atmosphere that enveloped the car. With her quiet demeanour and her little diary resting on her lap, she reminded me of a child obediently sitting in their designated seat at church, following instructions given by a loving mother. It was as though she possessed an aura of tranquillity that set my mind at ease, despite the persistent static noises emanating from the radio, which seemed impervious to my futile attempts at adjusting the modulation. My frustration began to bubble up, as I couldn’t help but wonder if the man at the store had intentionally sold me a faulty device. However, any lingering annoyance faded away in an instant when Maria, breaking her silence, gently asked me, with an innocent smile gracing her face, if I enjoyed stories. Surprised, I found myself momentarily taken aback by her unexpected question, but soon curiosity began to replace my initial surprise.
The curiosity soon piqued, I turned to Maria and urged her to go on. She seemed eager to share her favourite story—a poignant yet empowering tale about a group of girls. As the words poured from her lips, I found myself drawn into her narrative.
The story unfolded like a captivating dream, telling the tale of a group of young girls who yearned to make their dreams come true amidst the dazzling lights of a bustling city. Undeterred by the scepticism of others, they pooled their resources and embarked on a secret journey to the urban realm of their dreams. They slipped away from the prying eyes of family and friends, venturing into the unknown.
Upon reaching their destination, the city’s lights greeted them like celestial guardians, illuminating their path with a sense of hope and possibility. Lost in the mesmerizing energy of the metropolis, the girls encountered a kind-hearted stranger who offered them not only shelter but also invaluable guidance. Grateful for his generosity, the girls readily accepted his assistance.
Weeks turned into months, and under the man’s care, the girls thrived in the warmth of his benevolence. They were well-fed, clothed, and nurtured without ever being asked to reciprocate.
Interrupting the narrative, an unexpected growling emerged from the depths of my stomach. Hunger, as relentless as ever, reminded me that we needed sustenance. With a determined resolve, I pulled into the next fuel station, hoping to find something that would appease our appetites without breaking the bank. The sound of a barking Boer bull dog greeted us as we parked next to a Toyota Hilux. Concerned for Maria’s well-being, I asked if she needed to use the bathroom, but she reassured me that she was fine.
Stepping into the convenience store, the barking continued to echo in the background, providing an uneasy soundtrack to our visit. I quickly purchased a loaf of bread, a small packet of potato crisps, and a bottle of water—a humble feast to be shared between two hungry souls. Just as I reached the checkout, the barking abruptly ceased, and I hurriedly returned to the car, curious about the sudden silence.
To my astonishment, I found Maria standing beside the car, her delicate hands calmly cradling the once-fierce Boer bull dog’s head. Their eyes locked in an inexplicable connection, as if a silent understanding passed between them. I stood transfixed, marvelling at Maria’s uncanny ability to soothe such a powerful creature with her mere presence.
Breaking the enchanting moment, Maria gracefully re-joined me in the car, and I instinctively started the engine. However, the ever-present static noise seeped back through the speakers, reminding me of its relentless persistence. Hastily, I reached for the radio’s power button, eager to silence the interference. Yet, Maria’s gentle hand on my arm halted my actions, and I turned to face her inquisitive gaze.
With a serene smile playing on her lips, Maria confessed that the sound of the static was strangely comforting to her. She elaborated, sharing how its rhythmic crackling acted as a soothing lullaby, transporting her to a place of tranquil thoughts and unburdened emotions. Intrigued by her unique perspective, I pondered the mystifying beauty found within her connection to the ambient dissonance.
And so, with Maria’s desires in mind, I refrained from turning off the radio, allowing the static to weave its ethereal tapestry throughout our nocturnal voyage.
As we continued on our long journey, and I couldn’t help but glance at the little diary that Maria kept on her lap. She could sense my curiosity and opened by telling me, the diary was a journal of all her thoughts and longings; messages she hoped she could share with her mother back home, that she hadn’t seen in years. She said her busy life and job in the big city didn’t allow her the opportunity to go back home to visit. But now was her chance to make right with that.
I started to fill a connection with Maria, as if our pains were similar of longing that could only be satisfied back home. It was a spine chilling feeling, especially for two complete stranger in this long night drive to find such a connection.
I soon told Maria about my life and how I had come to the big city with hopes of making a better life for myself after moving out of my parents’ house. I explained to her that I had planned to live with my single aunty who had kindly offered her place until I found my feet. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned because the job promises turned out to be disappointing. I shared with Maria how my so-called church-going aunty turned out to have an evil character hidden behind her Sunday persona. She was cruel, manipulative, and controlling. I endured her behaviour for years as I desperately tried to find stability.
However, one faithful morning, an argument erupted between us, and it was that moment that made me decide to leave. I recounted how I requested to receive a portion of my pay in advance, how I filled my car with petrol, and how I returned home that evening to pack up my life and leave. Ending my tale, I confided in Maria that my aunty wanted me to stay by her side because she wanted me to be her personal slave. My disobedience to her demands filled her with rage, and she even told me that she regretted ever offering me a place in the first place.
After a long pause, I could sense that my tragic story had greatly upset Maria. In an attempt to lighten the mood, I kindly asked her to continue her story.
With a smile, Maria resumed where she had left off. She delved into the story of how the man had started offering the girls work with his extensive customer base. These girls worked as personal assistants for numerous satisfied clients. After a long day’s work, they would return to the man’s palace, where he had prepared a lovely and private room for each of them.
Intrigued by Maria’s narrative, I couldn’t help but interrupt and ask her why the story was sad. She turned to me and explained that the tale took a tragic turn when the girls and the man were invited to a grand party. Excitedly, they all jumped into his black van and headed towards the venue, but tragically, an accident occurred along the way, claiming all of their lives. Despite the unfortunate ending, Maria emphasized that, if only for a moment, those girls had experienced a taste of freedom and a life that was filled with possibilities.
I sighed, feeling underwhelmed by the anticlimactic nature of the story. It seemed lacking in excitement and depth. Curious to understand why Maria considered it her favourite, I turned to her and asked about her connection to the story. Maria responded with enthusiasm, explaining that it inspired her to break free from the confines of her current situation and pursue her dreams with fervour. She emphasized the importance of appreciating one’s current circumstances while also striving for more. Not only did the story ignite a passion within her, but it also sparked her love for poetry. Maria revealed that it encouraged her to express her emotions through writing, ultimately leading her to discover the joy of penning heartfelt pieces. To share her creative journey with me, she reached for her cherished little diary, tenderly opening it to reveal the intimate collection of her poetic musings.
I
The city, with its crimson hue,
resembles the sombre tears shed by a beheaded goat,
Its very essence mirrored in the stained streets that bear
witness to an unsettling narrative.
For it is through the spilling of innocent blood,
a tragic consequence of the city’s guilt-ridden actions,
That the story unfolds, leaving a macabre imprint on its conscience.
II
Damn you! Damn you all for pretending to be blind to the darkness you see in the light of day and turning a blind eye to the suffering of those you were supposed to protect and care for. In this world, where shadows lurk behind every corner, you choose to shield your eyes from the truth, refusing to acknowledge the harsh reality that surrounds you. Damn you! Damn you all for closing your ears not only to the cries of the night, but also to the desperate pleas for help that echo through the concrete jungles of the cities, where hope flickers like a dying flame. Your indifference adds to the weight of their burden, as their voices fade into the abyss of indifference. Damn you! Damn you all, not only for your silent acquiescence, but for actively participating in your own reckoning of guilt. Each moment you deny your complicity, your hands become stained with the filth of your choices, forever marking your soul. Damn you! Damn you all to the depths of hell, where I await your arrival, eager to witness the scorching of your souls for eternity, as justice finally catches up to you, and you face the consequences of your inaction.
III
You have ensnared the ethereal essence of my beauty within the confines of your rigid cages, restricting my freedom and autonomy. It is as if you have acquired my skin and adorned it upon your own, arrogantly revelling in the power and control you believe it bestows. Night after night, your piercing actions inflict deep wounds upon my soul, leaving me to fend for myself and heal in the unforgiving daylight, attempting to tend to the visible scars that remain. Yet, know this: imprisonment may confine me for a time, but like the marvellous Phoenix, I shall not be contained forever. My spirit will soar triumphantly, breaking free from these restrictive boundaries, and I will rise once more in all my resplendent glory.
Once again, a heavy sigh escaped my lips as I listened to what was being said. I found myself unable to articulate my true feelings, so all I could do was let out that deep breath. Gathering my thoughts, I turned to Maria and expressed my genuine admiration for her writing, emphasizing how it effortlessly captured the rawest of emotions. As a genuine connection formed between us, a warm smile graced her lips, and she gently closed her book, ending the profound exchange.
As the journey went on, I could see the sun once again rise, and in its silhouette was our final destination—home—an oasis of comfort and familiarity awaiting our arrival. I noticed Maria had barely touched her food, her appetite seemingly subdued. Concerned for her well-being, I gently inquired if she was feeling okay, my genuine worry etched on my face. In response, she reassured me that she simply wasn’t feeling hungry, urging me to finish her food for her, a selfless gesture that both touched and bewildered me. Reluctantly agreeing, I took a few hesitant bites, watching as Maria’s expression eased into gratitude.
However, her shivering in the morning cold quickly caught my attention, each tremor tugging at my heartstrings like a gentle plea for warmth. Without a second thought, I hastily reached for my jacket, tucked away in the back of the car for such moments. The jacket enveloped her like a cosy blanket, providing a shield against the relentless chill in the air. As we drew closer to the city, the morning cold seemed to intensify, its icy grip tightening with every passing mile. Despite the feeble efforts of the car’s unreliable heater, I pressed on, drawing solace from the knowledge that Maria was at least shielded from the bitter cold.
Soon, we arrived at the toll gate, where a courteous gentleman greeted me with a respectful “sir.” Puzzled by the discrepancy in treatment, I turned to Maria, only to discover that she had succumbed to the exhaustion of our journey and drifted off into peaceful slumber. A gentle smile tugged at my lips as I marvelled at her serene expression, appreciating the unwavering company she had provided throughout the arduous night. Leaving her undisturbed, I ventured forward, venturing deeper into the heart of the small city that had once been my home.
As my car glided through familiar streets, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, evoking memories long forgotten and buried beneath the weight of time. A genuine smile graced my lips, like a long-lost friend finally rediscovered, filling my spirit with a sense of hope and belonging that I had believed to be lost over the years.
Guided by the recollection of the location Maria had shared during our initial meeting, I maneuverer the car until it was parked neatly in front of her gate. With gentle persuasion, I roused her from her slumber, and her eyes sparkled with boundless joy at the sight of her childhood home. Gratitude poured from her in a tender kiss upon my cheek, the lingering sensation a testament to the enduring impact of our time spent together. Observing the lingering coldness in her touch, I insisted that she keep the jacket for the time being, assuring her that I would retrieve it in a few days, once I had reunited with my own family. In truth, there was an underlying hope that I would see her again, to witness the blossoming of the bond we had formed amidst the trials of this journey.
Reluctantly, we bid our farewells, and I watched as Maria gracefully vanished through the gate, disappearing into the embrace of her long-awaited home. With a wistful gaze, I drove off, ensuring that she was safely within the confines of her security. Only a few meters down the road, a marvellous revelation unfolded—the modulator I had purchased had finally decided to cooperate, eliciting a hearty laugh that reverberated through the car. In that moment, I appreciated the tenacity I had displayed throughout the trip, for it was that stubbornness that had allowed me to forge a connection with Maria.
Finally, I arrived at my own house, filled with anticipation and longing. A gentle hoot alerted my aging parents to my presence, their surprise and joy evident in their wide-eyed expressions as they welcomed their prodigal child back home. The early hour of the morning may have caught them off guard, but their love and warmth embraced me without hesitation, soothing the weariness that had settled within my bones.
As the days went on, I went to go see Maria, filled with excitement, unable to contain my anticipation for our long-awaited reunion. I imagined the joy in her eyes and the warmth of her embrace. With each passing moment, my heart raced, fuelling my determination to reach her as quickly as possible. Finally, I arrived at her gate and let out a hoot, hoping Maria would come rushing to open the gate, her familiar laughter echoing in the air.
To my surprise, it wasn’t Maria who greeted me but an old woman, her face etched with confusion and concern. Stepping out of the car, I approached the woman, assuming that she was Maria’s mother. This assumption proved to be correct, as my words confirmed her identity. I explained that I was here to see her precious daughter, Maria, hoping for a warm reunion. However, the woman’s confusion only deepened, her eyes filled with a profound sadness that sent a shiver down my spine.
In a disheartened tone, she revealed a truth that shattered my world. Maria had been missing for the past ten years, presumed to be dead by authorities. The weight of her words settled heavily upon me, mixing with disbelief and a gnawing sense of dread. How could this be? Just a few nights ago, I had spent hours driving with Maria, with our stories connecting us.
Determined to unravel the mystery and find answers, I pressed the woman about her certainty, desperate for any shred of hope. She provided me with an address, urging me to confirm the truth for myself. Clutching onto the sliver of hope that remained, I raced towards the address, my mind a storm of questions and uncertainties.
The address led me to a small graveyard, its solemn atmosphere casting a chill over my entire being. Stepping amongst the tombstones, I searched for any sign or clue that could explain the truth behind Maria’s disappearance. Moments later, a burst of vibrant colour caught my attention, drawing me closer with an inexplicable pull. It was my jacket, the very one I had assumed I gave Maria during our journey together. Piled on top of a tombstone, it stood as a haunting reminder of the past.
With a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, I rushed towards the tombstone, my eyes scanning the inscription. It bore Maria’s name, a poignant reminder of her existence and the magnitude of her absence. Alongside the jacket laid her small black diary, its pages filled with Maria’s poignant words. Snatching it up, along with my jacket, I hurried back to the car, hoping that within the diary’s pages, I would find the answers I so desperately sought.
Sitting alone in the car, an overwhelming urge compelled me to delve into the diary’s contents. Opening it reverently, I found myself diving into Maria’s world,— the story Maria had told me was actually her story; written as her personal memoir filled with the most unimaginable hardships she had endured. In her own words telling her own harrowing truth.
Within the pages, Maria recounted the aspiration she and the other girls shared—to escape their suffocating lives in their small hometown and find a better future in the bustling city. However, their dreams were cruelly shattered. A man, later revealed to be a heartless pimp, forcefully took them, stripping them of their freedom and selling them into the dark world of prostitution.
Maria chronicled their days as they were passed from client to client, their souls slowly withering away under the weight of abuse and despair. After fulfilling their abusers’ desires, they would be sent back to the pimp, imprisoned in tiny cages that stripped away their humanity. In a heart-wrenching twist, Maria disclosed that she had stolen the diary from one of the clients, using it as a means to record the unspeakable horrors they endured.
The words I read left me paralyzed with shock and a profound sadness that engulfed every fibre of my being. The reality of Maria’s suffering, not just for herself but for the other girls who were trapped alongside her, was too much to bear. Through her diary, she expressed her determination to put an end to this cycle of abuse, yearning to find a way to escape when they were driven to a sex party organized by the pimp.
Overwhelmed by grief , I couldn’t help but let tears cascade down my face. This unimaginable truth had shattered my belief in the world’s goodness. But after thirty minutes of grappling with my emotions, I managed to regain my composure and turned to the final page of the diary, a page that held a message that Maria fervently wished to share with someone important.
Without delay, I started the car and sped back to the old woman’s house, the urgency in my heart propelling me forward. As I reached the gate, I hooted like a soul possessed, demanding the woman’s attention. She stormed out of the house, her anger evident in her eyes, but before she could unleash her fury upon me, I presented her with the diary, open to the last page where Maria’s final message lay. Tears streamed down her face as she began to read the heartfelt words etched onto the page.
It read as:
“I’m so sorry mother. I didn’t know any better. I hope you can forgive me one day. I love you.
END.
