Perceptions

EPISODE 1: New Beginnings

⨳   Naina   ⨳

"As a person you can't stand your freedom being 'utterly compromised', let alone, 'convincingly denied'."

She hugged the 'rectangular' thing, and aimed her words at me. Anyone, sane enough can say it's a fancy painting or a random picture, 'very expensive' one that is, as it is delicately wrapped in a white see-through cloth, not see-through enough to see what it was.

"And fighting for it is alleged as 'misbehavior'!". She said air-quoting with her fingers and twirling her green skirt pants-whatever they are called. If only words could poison, the family size of my only maternal aunt's family would've dropped drastically.

"Both are worse, either way; the discreet presence of these words is only to direct that your freedom has already been mortified.". I said, not focusing on the painting anymore.

"You are partially correct".

"Which part sounds incorrect? I will rephrase it.".

"The part where you deny your favorite cousin to share your room with you."

"Oh! So, you are on your summer tour here. Aren't you a little early, though? Will this thing come along?",  I say, while walking away from her, desperately trying to put an end to this conversation, subtly.

"This is grandma's gift.". I'm blinded by her brightness and the gilded frame peeking out of the cloth. 

I watched her peeling the white-fabric off our grandma's gift- old, sketchy, dusty and creepy-that's what I make out of it from this far. I will never keep anything like that in my house. But this is a gift-her last one, like the porcelain bowls she gifted me; I wish she gifted me her fashion sense. Why was I ruled out of a fashionable grace?

 Also, mom said Sara fought over this with my grandmother's mother's other children's children.

"We will keep it at your side. Why don't you put it on that table? I should go get some nails and a hammer." I shout descending the stairs. Well, how can I refuse her.

"Yeah! 'Till then I will... ". 

No.

No. I am not thinking about my grandmother. We're not that close, but I wish we were. I remember she died a mysterious death, cold on those white sheets, it's been a year. I couldn't visit her in her last days. If I could, I would've held her hand and tell her that she'll be a beautiful angel who will watch over us and protect us all.

Unintentionally sweeping the dust over the toolbox I grabbed the necessities needed to put a frame on a wall. I purposely slowed my steps to delay my arrival. After taking more than enough time to go back to room I decided it's better to end this sooner, owing to my favorite cousin sister's feelings. She only blesses me with her presence on holidays, mostly on summer breaks and family gatherings. I keep the tools on the table impulsively and hold the structure. Let's get this done! How much can an old painting be scary? Lifting my eyelids, the first thing I see is a child, pale as a ghost, dressed like a doll, holding a bouquet of roses that hides most of her face, eyes visible, matching mine: sad, curious and russet brown. Her black hair was miserably covered with her small hat. Through the scattered leaves and blood-red roses her creepy wide smile, is clear. 

What on earth is this? Why will she gift something like this to Sara? No way in hell I will touch this! 

"Hey Sara! take this. I need to use the washroom. Sara? Where are you?". It almost sounded like a low pitched scream coming from my lips.

I accidentally looked at that painting again, can't help I was too close to it err, holding it. A sense of danger passed me like a shock wave and I sprinted towards the exit of my room frantically. I ran faster than I did in any of my school annual races I was forced to participate in. I ran, passing the still packed cardboard boxes and I didn't stop until I was in the living area where I last saw mom.