13 1.10 — Home Sweet Home

So, guess what, the place I escaped from? It was barely an hour away from my place.

Shocking right? Who knew? I mean, what are the chances for that?

What a small world!

You can never know who ends up as your neighbour.

Still just an hour away.

I mean, I ran so it was even less than that but the moment I saw the bus stand with that torn-up poster of some actor—god knows who but someone, not me, drew on the torn-up portion so now it looked like the actor had the face of a cow—I felt relief wash over my body.

...And then dread right after it.

It was just an hour away.

Shit on a dry cracker! What if they find me? Or, or, place a tracker on me? I mean, do they use any trackers? Judging by their place, I doubt they can even afford a happy meal.

What if I was followed? That’s possible too.

…Damn, if only you all could speak and tell me if they were following me or not. You’re useless in such a situation, you know that?

No offence, ofcourse.

With suspicion clouding my mind, I took the long route back home. I deliberately took turns that went in the opposite direction, walked in small alleys, jumped through walls of other’s houses, nearly had my leg bitten off by someone’s dogs—like seriously, what happened to people taking those sweet little cute dogs that fit inside their purses instead of the large and scary hunter breed? As if they’re gonna go on a hunting trip here!

All the shops had closed down too, except for the medical store whose owner was more interested in playing some mobile game and smoking his cigarette instead of manning the shop. Although, in his defence, there were no customers. Still, it felt a little ironic to see a medical place owner smoking cigarettes.

The point is, the setting was creepy.

The whole journey it felt like my heart was near my throat, about to jump out from even the tiniest of jump scares. I constantly looked back, wondering if anyone was following me, wondering if that humanoid looking shadow was one of the monk guys or, worse, one of the disguised monsters.

Turns out, it was just Vijay. Our local town drunkard whom you’ll spot at night no matter what part of town you were in at any given time. It was almost like magic. To be honest, we’re not even sure if his name is Vijay. Me and my friends just call him that because...well, I don’t know why we call him that. Easy name to remember, I suppose.

Anyways, after another hour or so because of my deranged movements, I reached my home—dripping and smelling like sweat, trying to catch my breath. Suddenly the hot weather in the morning felt cold at night. Not that it went below 20oC. Even during winters it barely went below 15oC.

The streets were empty minus the two cows sleeping on the footpath, swatting the flies away. There were stray dogs too—seemingly having some kind of turf war among themselves. Usually, I would be annoyed by them. Rascals never made the sleeping process any easier—like geez, do you have to fight every day?—but today, those annoyingly loud barks were reassuring.

Not that they would come to my rescue if I was attacked. Chances were they would be the attackers.

But it felt nice to know I wasn’t…alone in the empty street.

Walking up to the front door, I searched for the key in my bag and unlocked it.

Our house, like all the other residences in this colony, was a single duplex residence. With two rooms, a kitchen, a guest room—that my uncle uses to keep his book collection—and a hall, we were happy with it.

The lights were off, meaning either my uncle was already asleep or out for his work. My uncle worked in the police department so his hours were, for the most part, very challenging.

Though, he made sure to cook food for me in the morning and at night. Like the plate of pasta on the kitchen countertop with a note instructing me to heat it.

Placing the plate in the microwave and switching it on, I went to my room, placed my bag near the table and changed my clothes. I opened my Uncle’s door and saw him sleeping in.

How peaceful he looked.

Shame he won’t be peaceful in the morning.

While there were several missed calls by him, staying out late till the night was nothing new for me. Ofcourse not this late. And it’s not like I was out partying every day or dealing drugs—I haven’t taken even a sip of alcohol yet.

I would usually just ride the bicycle or go out for a jog until my uncle called me and told me to hurry up.

Yes, I know I said that he would ground me for staying out late. What I really meant was he would ground me for staying out late and not picking up his calls. Well, nothing to be done about it now.

Reaching the kitchen downstairs, I took the plate and sat at the dining table, alone and sitting in silence. Usually, when I come home late, I prefer to eat while watching some show or movie. But today…I felt like I needed some silence to get my thoughts together.

Can you blame me, though? After the day I had? I mean, I lived through it and yet, I still can’t believe it.

I tried to piece everything together. The encounter, the run, that conversation.

They used the term Rakshas for Quadro—or Akkoro-however-the-fudge-you-pronounce-that, whichever one you prefer.

Basically meaning a demon. A monster. A beast.

So, let’s just go with that. Much simpler. And considering how Quadro looked, yeah Rakshas seemed like the right term.

As for the group, they looked like...monks, maybe not the traditional saffron wearing one but the aesthetic felt similar. Maybe they’re some sort of exorcist? You know, the ones who come up in the horror movies to expel the ghosts from a house or the main character or main character’s children.

Now, I can see the dead souls—unless I’m crazy, somehow, haven’t ruled that possibility out yet—so it’s not like I don’t believe in things like demons. But unlike ghosts who come to annoy and pester me every day, I’ve never really encountered any sort of demon before.

Atleast not the ones that are shown in movies.

Or like the ones I saw today.

But, they’re not sages or monks. That I know because they referred to me as a Sage. Well, not exactly, they dismissed that possibility. But, the way they worded it out meant that they themselves weren’t part of that group. Unless they’re one of those weird people who refer to themselves in 3rd person.

There’s a word that’s like on the tip of my tongue that’s begging to come out. It was something that Quadro said when he stabbed the blindfold guy, Ashraf.

Gunners, Gingers, Shimmers…no, it was definitely something with a G…Ah yes, Grimmers. They’re Grimmers!

…yeah, that still doesn’t help me. I have no idea what that word could mean.

I stared at my arm, clean—I had to take a bath—and not broken.

Ruh…

It’s a weird feeling. To know I can do…magic, for the lack of a better word. Weirder to know there’s some form of sentient energy that loves me and wants to help me. It’s like being in a relationship that you weren’t aware of. Totally not speaking from experience. Still...

Not that it did me much good in the fight. For something that wishes to help me, it sure gave up after two hits.

Maybe they realised that the one they want to help doesn’t deserve it. Hell, I would kinda agree with that.

Afterall, a few moments of accidental heroism and bravery do not make up for a lifetime of cowardice and mistakes.

Getting up, I washed the dishes and vessels in the sink that my uncle left in there. And so starts my punishment. A subtle guy he is, that uncle of mine.

With that done, I made my way to my room.

It was a decent small sized one with a single bed wide enough for one person placed along the wall, facing the long windows giving access to the balcony. I didn’t really have any pictures or posters on my wall. There was an abstract art made by me when I was a kid. I still can’t tell what it is that I drew. All I remember is me and my father painting the wall, trying to have fun.

Even in terms of furniture, all I had was a wardrobe, a bookshelf—half filled with actual books, half-filled with various knick-knacks like my spider-man figure, batman figure and ofcourse my Gohan figure, and various other stuff that won’t really bring me any money if I were to sell them—and a small table with my laptop on it.

Sluggishly, I laid down on the soft bed.

My room. My bed. It felt good to be home. Not to mention, it smelled so good. So…fresh.

While I tried to sleep, my thoughts still plagued my mind.

What was I thinking?

‘Trying to save someone’ heh, as if.

I don’t really remember my exact thought process but pretty sure I just wanted to feel good for doing something that looked right. Even when it comes to helping someone, I can’t help but be selfish.

Still…

It did feel good. It still does. Under all doubts and self-hatred, I do feel good for what I did. For what I was able to achieve even for a short moment.

Too bad it won’t happen again.