Half Light [Editing]

Chapter Twenty Two

Edit: Republishing this chapter because I added a lot of material.

TW: Mentions of alcohol, alcoholism, abuse and death. Also destruction (similar to that of the prologue), nightmare and trauma. Arson and genocide. Gore.

DA note: I will NOT be pulling a victim card on Tay. He did what he did. But he has his own baggage too. Something like an imbalanced grey character.

The background score is from the 2009 movie Avatar "Shutting Down Grace's Lab". It will fit perfectly with the nightmare scenes.

I recommend listening to it on loop when you read the nightmare scene.

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Tay rested back on the recliner that was placed here merely hours ago.

They had gone out again to buy the vine plant but had returned with the said piece of furniture, a Chinese style vertical portrait and a calendar instead.

They had first placed the recliner in his study, then moving to the kitchen and dining area where they hung both the aforementioned things. Each taking turns to hammer the nails in the wall.

"New?" He'd turned to him after hammering the last nail, placing down the hammer on the table, where New was sat, as he'd asked, "What are you doing?"

New had turned to him then, raising the calendar. Today's date showcasing through the calendar mark that had come with it, "I was highlighting today's date."

New got off the table then, Tay's eyes following him as he hung the calendar where he'd just hammered the nail on the wall in between the two doors, one which led to the bathroom and the other to the makeshift servants' quarter.

New moved after hanging it as his eyes directly fell on the date in the red box, glaring, mocking and laughing at him all at once.

Fifteenth July.

He blinked, finding himself back in his study.

The recliner had wheels and could be moved, so he did. He'd placed it diagonally and a little beside the table, so that it faced the closed window, whose curtains were still open.

He took a sip of the Chardonnay he had poured himself a while ago. It was bitter than the last time he had drunk it last year today.

He swallowed it, his eyes distant and expression devoid of emotions.

Blindly gazing out the only window in his study that partly looked over the garden of the other house, which stood a little away from his, and partly showed the rest of the suburbs.

He could see, although not registering, faint lights glowing from afar, probably coming from the lanterns people had put up.

Collectively, they gave a firefly effect.

He took another sip of the Chardonnay as it went down his throat, burning and bitter.

The book shelf in the opposite corner, from where he sat, had it's lower two compartments converted into a cabinet that contained of the little alcohol collection he had, which consisted of;

One bottle of Chardonnay, one bottle of red Wine, a bottle of Bourbon, a bottle of Rum, one bottle of Scotch and a bottle of Whiskey but the irony was- he didn't like drinking.

He would rather choose death over becoming an alcoholic.

It was the only thing his father had ever despised in his entire life; alcohol and alcoholism.

He again took a sip from the intricately carved glass tumbler.

If his father would be alive today, he would have been disappointed in his son.