23 The Minute Bomb

(Year 9)

CAMBIAMENTO DI FEDE

My hand barely caressed the hand-grip, when my eyes peregrinated back to the stranger on my lawn. I kept wondering; what was so riveting about the book he was reading? He was momentarily peculiar and unconventional, but suddenly I was complacent about my safety. Perhaps, I was in need of some congenial company; however, I wasn't sure if it should be an intrusive stranger to find temporary solace in?

This whole municipality knew about my family. All the little children my age were segregated from me; the unkempt and disheveled child of the Lee family. I felt as if I was the society's surreptitious little secret. I was filthy and muddled, just like everyone's conscious here. But, now that this anomalous outsider resides on my lawn, I'm reluctant. His presence is both wrong and narcotic, equitably. It's strange, that he finds this lawn convenient from all the exquisite grass-plots in the precinct. It's strange, when every other person prefers distancing from me, he's allured inside this inadequate and cursory household.

Unless... He has a motive.

Nevertheless, I called my mother. My heart palpitating with unearthly exhilaration and trepidation. I launched my entire potency on opening the bulky door, but, to my consternation, the door remained padlocked.

"Mom? Can you come outside?" I asked loudly. "There's a stranger near the tree."

But, it remained silent.

I glanced at the kitchen window, and to my horror it was pitch black inside. The ceiling light remained supercilious; instilling angst and fright. Something boiled inside of me, and I glanced back at the stranger.

"Mo-m?" My voice croaked.

Instantaneously, the man discarded his book, and tousled his straight black hair.

'Wow.' I thought.

He's quite dapper. He wore pressed jeans, and a tight buttoned-up shirt.

"Yes, mom! Come outside! Quick, he's right there!" I fervently lied. I tried the door again, and all of it was a useless punt. The door wouldn't budge. But, shockingly, the man lay stock-still. His eyes wandered back to his book, as he picked it up leisurely. He chuckled. His quavering hands traveled to his jean pocket mischievously, and he took out an odd looking pen.

I retrogress in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

Promptly, he looked at me with his hazel eyes and beamed at me of all people with such candor, I couldn't help but try to convulse the feeling of dread blooming in the pit of my stomach. His lips quivered as if he was about to say something, but was forbidden from doing so, and then he took a step back.

"Sir?" I questioned.

I didn't want him to go, not yet- I needed to stop him, who would play dolls with me if he was gone? I brace myself to stop him before I spot a figure in the window glaring at me with her detrimental eyes, the same as mine, and without further protest my mouth shuts. My teeth clattering against each other, clip snapped shut, as I watch the elegant man slowly walk away leaving the feeling of menace in his wake.

"CHENILYN!" My mother's hoarse voice screeched.

I looked at her in protest, but the look of pure hatred on her face made me quiet.

"What are you looking at? Another flying horse?" She asked sharply.

"My dolls. I couldn't find them." I answered, holding back tears.

"So?" She questioned, furiously.

"I need your help in finding them; if you could spare me a few minutes."

She scoffed in disbelief.

"If I could spare you a few more minutes?" My mother mimicked.

"You NEVER had dolls to play with, you stupid weasel." She answered back almost immediately.

"Nan gave them to me. Just yesterday." I looked away as I answered her, avoiding the nonchalant look on my Nanny's face, who was standing right behind her. My gaze reverted to the same direction of the stranger. He poised motionless on his toes, holding the same odd pen.

He had returned.

"It's alright. The dolls aren't that important. I'm sorry for asking you." I said.

My mother laughed it off. "Oh, Chenilyn. I love you so much. You know that, right?" I smiled, imitatively. "Of-course."

"You can count on me. It's just that you're a fictitious little girl, but that's alright. Your father and I will protect you, right?"

She grabbed my arms rigorously, and dragged me inside. But, before she could do so I stared into his hazel eyes of the stranger. I silently mouthed "help", as I was callously hauled inside the house. But, all I saw him do was smile. And the door shut. I never saw him leave. Such an evil bastard.

As soon as I was confined to my room, I had to prepare for a test. No one came inside my room, ever. Tears spilled as the pages sagged underneath their great weight. Words blurred and turned to black mush. How was I ever going to get this done? Time passed as if it were lightning itself as the small hand attracted itself like lighting to water and the clock ticked and ticked and my mind refused to obey my commands. Tick. Tick. Mist began to form. Tick Tick. My book lay where it was. I was never going to get this done. Never. Ever. It was impossible. Tick. Tick. The book dropped to the ground, my swelled eyes slowly closing shut, as the mist surrounded me and the ticking wouldn't stop. Before I knew it I was dragging myself to school. Tears on the verge of spilling from their weak containers, as I take one and then another step towards my certain doom. The building loomed above me, its dark twisted windows calling to me, the bright words flashing before me, proclaiming that my worst fears might come alive. "Bridget's National School". I was definitely going to fail without a doubt. But, something was far more sinister, today. I couldn't name it, but it was present in the air. Somehow, I felt it. I shouldn't be here. No one should be near the school's precinct, today. I make my way to the front gate; all shrouded in fog as the bell tolls and the great doors welcome me into its clutches. But at the edge of my vision I see- someone, were my eyes playing tricks on me? I glance around as dread sprouts in my stomach, and then I see him, the man in his gentlemanly suit with his effervescent hazel eyes staring at me and with the expected dread.

What was his problem; was stalking in his genes or was he a pedophile?

Time rolled by, and I was seated on the crimson-brown chair, whispering my prayers. I knew it wasn't the test convulsing every muscle in my body. I recognized the imminent danger and jeopardy concealed within the few minutes of my stay, when Mr. Brown, our History teacher, stepped inside the classroom; handing papers to the students, alphabetically.

The speakers inside our classroom hollered the warning of the impending peril. A peculiar person had entered our school, carrying a 9 mm pistol and had shot the security guard, dead. Everyone scurried inside the basketball court, and the teachers stood guard of all the students. They counted everyone, but me.

I hid in the washroom, since I was relatively new, and didn't know the existence of a basket ball court in our school. One child I had asked pointed towards the washroom, saying it was: "TOO LATE!!! THE TERRORIST IS HERE."

It smelled awful in the bathroom. It stung my nostrils so much so, that I couldn't help but sneeze loudly. Soon enough, I heard rapid footsteps entering the stall right next to mine. "Is someone here?" I heard a male voice ask, demanding.

I didn't know how to respond. Who was the man in the next stall? Did he close the stall door? I wasn't definite. I ludicrously slipped outside my stall, but someone instantaneously held my mouth and infiltrated the same stall I was formerly in with me. With one free hand he brushed his lips, asking me to stay quiet. I scrutinized the person holding me, and my heart raced swiftly. It was him. The man from my lawn.

I gave him a questioning look, but he tightened his grip around me. His poise inclined towards evident excitement and horror. I couldn't help but asking him through a silent interrogation; "Who are you?" And he shrugged, unknowingly. "You won't kill me?" I asked once again. And he replied with a swift 'no' movement. I immediately removed his hand from my mouth and reassured him I'd stay quiet, and he smiled. He ruffled my hair.

Placidly, he slipped away from me, and put a finger to his lips. He made a weird gesture with his index finger and the thumb. Once again, he brushed his lips, eyeing me covertly to stay reticent.

I didn't know who he was, but his face and hazel eyes were filled to the brim with pure love like that of a caring parent. He seemed content, yet frightened, too.

He gesticulated a solemn goodbye and pointed towards the stall's lock, before stepping outside the stall and disappearing. I locked the washroom stall as soon as he left.

But, right after he evanesced, the stall right next to me opened ex-potentially. The loud bang made me shriek, but I managed to grasp hold of my voice. Shortly after-wards, a pair of clicking footsteps reached right outside my stall, and stopped abruptly. I prayed silently.

"Hmm." I heard someone grabbing the door handle of the stall door, and fidgeting with it.

"Oh, shit. It's locked."