Silent Gratitude - Meli J Nightly (read e book .TXT) 📗

Silent Gratitude
Meli J Nightly

S

ilence is something I was not fond of. Memories overflow and even if so I had no burdens to bear my unconsciousness was always active and aware of many things that I had yet to learn. I had no reason to dislike silence or fear it. For those who fear it most likely they are running from themselves or the hurtful lessons of the past. I, however, am not running away from either. In fact I was not running away at all. To the people who raised me I was perfect, even if I lacked many things, they always said-- "We love you." How I wish I could have said those words back to them. My voice was always silent, yet my feelings were loud.

While thinking of unimportant things I looked at the clock which marked two 'o clock. I sighed. My eyes wandered to the window; the sun hid beneath the gray clouds, which embedded the sky with a dim and gloomy sight. I found myself in the comforts of my bed, in my room and in silence. My room walls were thin enough that I could hear most of the things being done or said downstairs. Sometimes I could indistinctly perceive sounds of pans sizzling when my grandmother was cooking. Other times I could hear my grandfather scream for some toilette paper. He never checked if there was any when he entered the restroom. I didn't mind them at all, because I appreciated the noise they made. I enjoyed listening to them talk and argue. After all, I never did anything important in which required concentration. All I had were vague and silent thoughts.

Despite being lost in my random rationalization, talking to myself was probably the only thing that was left for me to do. I discarded my foolish inward debates; I could feel my eyes become drowsy and my eyelids heavy. I was able to hear my grandpa who was loudly asking for some paper again. "Darn it, can you get me some paper Wilma?!" And my grandma of course was shushing him in a tone only she would deem as whispering, "Be quiet! Can't you see the child is probably taking her nap?"

I smiled at the thought of still being their child, when I was probably too old and too young for such naps in the afternoon. I was at the age of true energy or so I was told, but I didn't care. My bed was teasing me at those hours for the past days that I was left with no choice but to give in to its invitation of sleep. So I did.

Once again I slipped into the depths of the unknown of my dark imagination. It was the same image of me looking at the clock, which marked four o'clock on the dot and then I could see my loving grandmother standing in a long and dark hallway. Only it just didn't seem like her at all. Her eyes filled with hate and insanity embedded her once sweet and soft façade. I had a feeling I had been there before, like I could foresee what would happen.

"I want no part of it anymore… I want it to stop," I screamed. Ah, yes. It was then that I understood it was a nightmare. Still it did not stop; it never did until she approached me and the feeling of a sharp pain hit my body. I fall on my knees and looked at her eyes different from the demoniac sight that was before. No longer demonic, only sorrow showed.

I woke up, as I always did, sweaty and breathless. I tried my best to make out the numbers in my faithful clock, my eyes could have fooled me but still I believe it said three fifty. I had woken up at the same hour and had the same dream for the past couple days. Nevertheless, I found myself lost about its meaning or if it meant anything at all. Each time I woke up from having that dream, I became drained, physically and emotionally. And even though it was a nightmare part of it seemed like a dream. It was the first dream I ever had in which I could speak… or rather scream. Whether it was disturbing or not, that I managed to use my voice made me not think about it in a negative way. I laid back and closed my eyes once again wanting to dream of something more pleasant. Tossing and turning, I found myself not being able to shake away the nightmare like I had done before. It was just ridiculous to even consider that my unconscious would assemble such a thing; my grandmother loved me too much to even think that she would want to hurt me.

I distracted from my defensive thoughts once more, for which I was thankful… except that there was an exuberant amount of noise going on downstairs. With my eyes still closed I tried to just listen.

Sounds of pans falling, plates too.

Awkward, I thought. Yet made no effort to go and see. Not until I heard a frightening scream that is. It was my grandfather. I sat up in my bed as quickly as I could manage to. Yet I considered that maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. Maybe it was the misty influence of the atmosphere combined with the recollection of my nightmare. But then… a scream of pain and agony, I also heard. This time it was my grandmother. My heart began to pound, anxiety broke in and I found myself numb and unable to move.

I cannot say how long I was there, shocked, lost and bewildered. Loud, forced footsteps made their way up the stairway, panting getting heavier and closer as it reached the second floor and headed towards my closed bedroom door. Somehow I felt compelled to look at my clock as if someone was telling me to do so. What seemed like hours had just been minutes! Only two minutes to four. The knob turned and I was able to move once again. It didn't help much, for my brain was at a loss for coherent thought. All I could do was get up and wait to see what was in store for me at the other side of the door.

My heart sank into the pit of my stomach, which twisted and warned of returning my last eaten meal. I placed my hand on my mouth to prevent nothing but a reflexive gasp as I watched her standing in front of me, drenched in blood, skin from her left arm having been ripped out as if someone had chewed on it. It's a nightmare, was all I could think of --'It must be. This isn't real.' She locked the door, spoke no word and I couldn't utter a single syllable or scream for the life of me.

An icy chill ran through my body. She approached me like she had done in my dreams so many times before.

I kept telling myself --it's just a dream, a bad dream. Every part of my body shook. I was terrified beyond belief, which had been different from my dream where I showed no feelings of being scared. I slowly found myself reaching for her, tears falling from my eyes as I gazed upon the person who had raised me. Her face began to pale and singularly trying her best to balance herself. The anticipation had caught on; I finally let go and reached for my bed sheets to cover her arm. Even though the blood barely squirmed out of her arm, it was certain that she had lost it for good.

I tried my best to compose myself yet I still had no way to ask her what was going on. I was a wreck, a nervous wreck. I turned around only to meet with pain… pain I could remember well. What I had not perceived was that her right hand had been hidden all along and it was then I knew why. But still the reason to why she had done it remained uncertain for me as I searched in her light brown eyes for an answer.

"I'm sorry," she whispered in a raspy tone.

It pained me more not being able to even ask why this had been to me, than the pain itself. I had no voice to even scream from the sharp throbbing ache inside my abdomen. I moved away with the best of my ability but she still had her hand-held tight on the kitchen knife and as I moved backwards to the bed. She pulled the knife out of me. My eyes grew wide open as I touched the blood running down my clothes, to my thighs and on to my feet. Was I supposed to die this way?

While I got up my grandmother plopped down on the floor crying and screaming, "I'm sorry!" I didn't believe her apologies. What had she done to me? Without listening to anything else I made my way to the door, she frantically tried to stop me but was already too weak to do anything. I opened the door. I wanted to see if my grandfather was safe and before I had gone out she spoke once again. "Don't go out… they're coming… there is nothing left to do." I was dumbfounded by her last phrase, but all I could think was that she had snapped and probably had stabbed my grandfather like she had done with me.

I walked out slowly holding my wounded abdomen as I did. As I got closer and closer to the staircase I heard a chewing-like sound. As if a wild pack of animals were there ripping through bones and chewing as hard as they could, blood was beginning to catapult to my mouth mixing itself with my saliva while I imagined the unimaginable. I peeked by the edge of the staircase…

But not even in the most sinister and gruesome hole of what I call my imagination could I have relented to think that such a scene could ever be displayed in front of my eyes. How wrong had I been? I would not even commence to describe how far off I was. Because what my eyes had gotten a hold of was that they were in no way animals of any kind, they were people.

Neighbors I had known my whole life, neighbors who I knew no longer. All gathered in a group feasting on the flesh of my grandfather, ripping through him like he was some kind of prey that lions had gotten a hold of. No, even lions have grace when killing their prey. They were morbidly eating him, bite after bite, fighting for what was left of him. Torturing him as they ripped through each limb. Too late had I placed a hand over my mouth once again to hold back the rush of blood with my last meal that had wanted to come out ever since I saw her. Her… I thought. I scurried as softly as I could back into my room. She was on the floor, her back resting on the wall, a big spot red with her blood; she was dying. Before I got close to her, I dragged myself to a corner, my hands and feet were already going numb. I