This is the first part in a 6 part fictional story series.
Everything in this story is purely imaginary with inspirations from real life.
Any resemblances to any person or occasion in real life is completely coincidental.
1. Conversations
She was a 20 year old college goer, with small, brown eyes, a rather flat nose, a set of imperfect, yellowish, crooked teeth and with wavy, shoulder-length, black hair now tied in a characteristic bun, with a milky complexion.
As she continued reading, a chill went down her spine. The chill had nothing to do with the atmosphere provided by the air conditioner nor with the gripping story of the book.
A feeling of being watched, almost that of being quietly examined, suddenly made her feel vulnerable. She glanced around the room, knowing this to not be any physical being, yet hoping against hope for it to be someone she could see, the alternatives being not very comforting. Now in a sideways posture, with her back exposed to the window, she felt the presence of something black, with pointed fingers, slowly attempting to grab her shoulders.
Anxious, she turned around, fervently chanted all the holy names she knew, trying to ignore the presence, trying to focus on the book, but no longer could. It was not as gripping as this uninvited presence seemed to be. Still chanting holy names, still praying for protection from angels, she threw the book, grabbed the comforter, wrapped herself up from head to toe, leaving nothing exposed.
The presence persisted, not in the evil way portrayed in most movies, but in a sad, yearning sense, as though all it wanted was her acknowledgement of it. Miraa relaxed, realising that it wasn't dangerous.
She felt a curiosity to see it, to feel it, to know it, but her tiredness started to overtake her, and she, no longer feeling scared, fell into deep sleep.
Her sleep was strangely dreamless, for the previous nights had been no less of a cinema made by an eager wannabe director, filled were they with confusing imageries and montages that left her tired by morning.
She woke up, out of the anxiety that she had missed her online class and felt neutral, not tired yet not energised. She checked her phone only to see that the class had been miraculously postponed.
Relieved, she ventured to brush her teeth. She felt the presence of the being again. She wasn't scared of talking to voices, knowing that these were usually messages from the Universe and not because of her losing her sanity or having hallucinations. Her intense spiritual practices had put her at ease about this.
Thinking it better to ask it its purpose (seeing that it wouldn't leave her anytime soon), she did, in her mind.
"Who are you?", she asked vaguely, hands focussed on brushing her teeth, least expecting a reply.
"Your past", said a quiet, measured, steady voice.
"What do you want?", she inquired, curious to see what more she had to let go of, but knowing it was something unpleasant.
"Your presence", it replied calmly.
The moment she had feared, had arrived. She could no longer run away from it, seeing that it had taken the form of another being to accost her.
Exhaling deeply, she told it, "You know why I refuse to see that memory... why I can't let go of that memory.", and she added defiantly, " I don't want to!".
Past replied "Look, I tried so many times to get your attention but you were hell bent on ignoring me. I have no interest in bothering you and I honestly want to go away from you. I can't though, seeing that you've kept me chained", indicating at a clasp at the ankles of its black form, connected to a chain which seemed connected to her throat.
"But I've let go of everything! Why can't you just set yourself free? Alright, I, your master, give you the permission to free yourself", she said in a frustrated, childish manner, knowing that it wouldn't work, hoping that it would.
Past laughed in a fatherly way, how a father would on seeing their baby's tantrums, and said in an understanding tone, "I understand why you feel ashamed of seeing some parts of me, where you have been humiliated, violated, disrespected and used. I don't like it much for that matter either. But the only way for me to dissolve, is by you setting me free. What is it child? Why can't you let go?"
Letting go of all control, she broke down in tears and screamed through the sobs, "You saw what he did to me, that son of a dog. You saw how he disrespected me, you saw how he never cared for my privacy or my modesty, you saw how he manipulated me, how he used me like a door mat, how much he violated me, how he so casually did those abusive things to me.
"YOU KNOW! YOU KNOW HOW ASHAMED I FELT WHEN I REALISED I HAD LET ALL THIS HAPPEN TO ME! YOU BLOODY WELL KNOW WHY I DON'T WANT TO LET GO!", she bellowed, backed against the tiled walls of the bathroom, heaped in a mess on the floor, crying her heart out, screaming for justice, thirsting for her abuser's blood, yearning for revenge.
How much she wanted to rip him apart from limb to limb.
How much she wanted to tie him up in a chair and spit on him, to stamp on his face, to sense his powerlessness at her hands, to feel powerful knowing he was under her control.
How much, oh how much, she wanted to make him feel ashamed for what he had done.
How much she wanted to slap, punch and kick him, just like he had done to her.
How much she wanted to torture him, to make him feel pathetic, to make him feel weak, to make him feel scared to even sleep in her direction, to make him feel absolute horror.
How much, she realised, she wanted to kill him. Kill him in the most painful way possible.
Past saw these vivid images running across her mind, sensed her elevated heartbeat and her thirst for vengeance, and calmly replied, "Whatever happened to you was not your fault.".
She laughed hysterically, thinking of those words 'Its not your fault' and said resentfully,
"Everyone will tell it was my fault!!
My fault that the person I was in love with had abused me,
My fault that he had violated me and killed my innocence.
My fault that he had taken advantage of me.
My fault that he had made me feel like an unworthy woman,and a slave.
My fault that he had revealed himself to be a lustful, controlling, manipulative, narcissistic monster.
My fault, that I had never stood up to him.
My fault that he stalked me.
My fault that he so casually entered my classroom and asked me to come to him, shamelessly, in front of everyone.
My fault that nobody came to help me.
Nobody was there for me! NOBODY!"
Past calmly replied, " I'm here for you Miraa".
She stopped mid-thought, stared into space and cried, cried like she had never cried before, whispering, "Nobody has been there for me. Nobody is going to believe me when I say what happened to me, they'll just call me a fool, a lunatic, an attention seeker", and added,
" I don't want to let go because I'm scared of what will happen if I do.
What if he comes back?
What if I fall for him again?
What if he takes advantage of me again?
What if, this time, there is no escape?
What if he.. what if he does all of this again to me...all over again??
I wish he would die a horrible, hurtful death.
I wish he would disappear.
I wish he would never come and disturb me again.
I JUST WANT SOME PEACE!",
Miraa screamed, panting, taking deep breaths from the disinfectant scented bathroom.
She feel weak, vulnerable, exposed and relieved. She had finally let it out, finally acknowledged her reason to hold on. She continued to cry some more, hiccupping in intervals, blowing her nose noisily on her loose t-shirt, waiting for Past to say something.
Seeing that it didn't, she sarcastically said, "I can only let go when I have the assurance that the person who tortured and abused me has died a horrible, torturous death, never to come back.... surely you can give me assurance of that happening!"
She got no reply. She couldn't sense Past's presence.
Past wasn't present anymore; Past had gone.
Had she been hallucinating it this whole time?
(to be continued)
//All images have been linked to their sources unless otherwise//
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Musing:
When we wish for the death of a thing or a person,
we wish for the death of that part inside us
which attracted the thing or the person to us.