Emotional Sensor (2)

My dad insisted on taking me to the hospital, his worry palpable even though I assured him that nothing major had happened. Inevitably, we found ourselves on the way to the hospital, where, after the visit, my dad engaged in a conversation with a consultant. A subtle vibe made me feel that they were aiming for more money, offering me a stark reality check about the intricacies of the world we live in.

"This world is an absolute mess," I pondered, feeling the gravity of the situation.

Eventually, the doctor reassured both of us, and a collective sigh of relief escaped my dad. As we headed home, however, an uneasy feeling persisted – a strange energy, perhaps even hostility, lingered in the air. I clung to my dad, scared, and he likely assumed my worry was connected to the earlier incident.

Thankfully, that uneasy feeling gradually dissipated by the time we reached halfway home. "Phew," I sighed in relief.

Since that day, a deep-seated aversion to people took root within me. I began to see them as individuals always ready to take advantage, prompting me to retreat into isolation for six years, scarcely venturing outside.

"Will people ever change?" I questioned during those years of solitude.

With time, the intensity of the frightening experience waned, prompting me to revisit the theme park to gauge how things had evolved. The outcome, however, was far from positive. The roller coaster track, once vibrant, now lay rusted; the burger joint had turned into a rat-infested wreck, and the ghost house – the primary motivation for my return – had its door shattered, reminiscent of the damaged burger place.

Entering the ghost house, my hope to witness the eerie scene from six years ago was in vain. Stepping outside again, the door, previously in ruins, now stood firmly closed. Attempting to open it, a creepy feeling engulfed me, suggesting it might spring back to life.

As anticipated, the door materialized after a brief interval, accompanied by a haunting echo echoing the voice from six years prior, cryptically stating, "It is starting soon."

Abruptly, it vanished, leaving the closed door restored to its destroyed state.

Inside the ghost house, I confronted not only physical ruins but also my own fears. The closed door served as a symbol of both confinement and mystery.

Exiting the theme park, a renewed sense of self-discovery accompanied me. The journey, replete with emotional highs and lows, transformed into a profound exploration of resilience, acceptance, and the inevitable changes life presents. The haunting ruins of the past, though chilling, imparted invaluable lessons about the perpetual dance between creation and destruction.

In the end, that theme park became a tapestry of memories, blending the bitter with the sweet. It encapsulated the human experience – laden with challenges, haunted by the past, yet resilient in the pursuit of meaning. The ruins may have faded into the background, but the enduring lessons stayed, shaping my perspective on life's intricate journey.

***

As I was leaving the park, my mom gave me a ring. She shared the exciting news that Dad would be returning home that evening to join in celebrating my birthday. She enthusiastically mentioned having purchased a delectable cake brimming with both chocolate and vanilla cream.

"Make sure to head home sooner rather than late," she reminded me.

Gratitude filled my heart as I responded, "Thanks, Mom." The joyous anticipation of the upcoming celebration enveloped me.

Life, you see, is a bit like a merry-go-round, throwing moments of joy and challenges our way, making it a real ride. It got me thinking, living through it can be a bit of a struggle at times, you know?

So, after this kind of strange experience, this strong feeling came over me to head back home. I retraced the same steps I took to get there. Once I got to the market, the thought popped into my head, "Why not explore some of those old-school paper books?"

You see, I'm usually holed up at home, navigating online classes. I've become quite accustomed to staring at screens for everything. Physical books? Not exactly my go-to. I hardly ever lay my hands on those, and to be honest, I've never even bothered asking someone to grab me a storybook. That's just how things have been, you know?

As I entered the public library, I found myself engulfed in a sea of books, as far as the eye could see. It was like a book lover's paradise, and I honestly felt like I needed a hundred pairs of eyes to truly appreciate the vastness of it all. The library organized these literary treasures into extensive categories, creating a haven for bibliophiles like myself. Never before had my eyes beheld such an extensive collection of books.

Wandering into the comic book section, my curiosity led me to randomly select a title called "The Unknown." With expectations of a gripping mystery, I eagerly delved into its pages. However, what I encountered was anything but ordinary. Instead of realistic portrayals, the illustrations depicted enigmatic shadow figures, almost ghost-like. The initial page featured a couple, discernible by their distinct hairstyles, standing expectantly at a door. Flipping to the next page, the couple vanished, replaced by a small child witnessing the brutal and graphic murder of, presumably, their parents.

This gripping narrative held me captive until my immersion was abruptly interrupted by my mother's call. Adhering to library etiquette, I stepped outside to engage in conversation with her. Urging me to return home within 15 minutes, her concern remained a mystery. Was it my father's early return or just a mother's worry due to my extended absence since leaving at half-past 3, now finding the clock at six?

As I hastened homeward, the sight of my father's shoes outside our abode brought a sense of relief. However, upon entering with a joyful and smiling countenance, my elation was cruelly shattered. A heart-wrenching scene unfolded before my eyes—my parents lay in a state of brutal demise. My mother's throat was ruthlessly slit, and her left eye bore the marks of unspeakable violence. Meanwhile, my father suffered fatal stab wounds, scars crisscrossing his body. The brutality extended further, with his right arm severed and his tongue callously removed. The stark contrast between my initial happiness and the harsh reality left me in profound sorrow, a surreal nightmare that I never fathomed would become a part of my life.