FanNation - The Republic of Sport

Third edition of a series of short story blogs...enjoy!

A Mere Reflection

            Life is in the details. It's in having the sensibility and the perception to notice what others don't. Nicholas Negroponte once said that you see it best through your peripheral vision, and I say that you don't really live life if you don't see it. To some it's just mere details and unnecessary, to me it was my life, my job, my joy.

            I have given up that life some years now. I know one can never negate his past, but I tried to erase my memories as much as possible. And I have been reasonably successful in achieving so, for now I am settled down, with a family; my wife and two daughters. If you ever want to try to run away from your past, Kansas is the place to go. It's a whole different planet compared to New York. But what took me fifteen years to forget came rushing back surprisingly to haunt me, and I could not deny it.

            It's a typical early-autumn afternoon, not too hot or too cold. I look outside my bedroom window, out at the trees and at the fallen leaves. Dead leaves. Much like the news I just received moments ago.

            It was the police; they stopped, got out, and by the look of their faces and their expressions I knew right away. Something bad had happened. Someone had died.

            In that few moments thousands of thoughts crossed my mind. Please don't let it be my dear Susan! My daughters Aimee and Alice, oh God no!

            I was hoping with all my might that it wasn't one of the three. But there was no one else. Was I supposed to choose which of the three died? Could I choose?!

            I couldn't, and like an anvil to the brittle wooden ship that is life, I found out it was my 18-year-old daughter, Aimee. My heart sank, and with it any words that could describe what I felt. The police left me to be.

            I was alone at home. Susan had taken Alice to a mother-daughter camping trip and wouldn't be back till tomorrow afternoon. It didn't seem right to ruin their last moments as a happy family.

            So I went to Aimee's room and sat on her bed, closing my eyes. I didn't cry though. Never was much of a crier, instead, I react.

            They kidnapped her after school, and not only had they raped her, but shot her in the heart and left her to die in some nearby stream. My sweet Aimee. The police had their suspects, and so did I.

            I decided to go upstairs to my and my wife's bedroom. There, in the closet was an old box, which hadn't been opened since I moved.  I get the medium-sized box; it's old and dusty, but still intact, much like the thoughts that are coming back. Slowly I open it, and inside is a square object covered in a red cloth. I sit at my bed and carefully spread the cloth to reveal what's inside, pealing away all the layers that I have covered up all these years.

            And there I stood, staring at it intently, never having looked at one of these since I got out of that life. They say the past always comes back to haunt you, but not sure what to do, I keep looking at it as if it would move by itself and take its own course. But it didn't, so I blinked. And it blinked too. And my old self was restored.

            Suddenly determined, I set the small mirror down, and headed toward a deeper part of the closet. This time it's a small black box, and with not so much drama as before, I open it coldly and retrieve the objects inside: gloves, a silencer and a pistol.

            I put on the gloves and equip the pistol purposefully and start to walk downstairs. I am not thinking about anything anymore. This isn't the time to think or ponder, but a time to focus, to concentrate on the specifics of my renewed vocation.

            My eyes pierce my hand, holding the weapon with a steadfast assurance. I reach the front door and open it. I've got some demons to exorcise.

            I close the door behind me.