Unpredictable

Mystery

(I don't like this part, really messy)

C-1

The mystery that I yearn to unravel, the fog enveloping me, preventing me from seeing it all, what could be the reason to drown me in the mist of a blocked wall?

Year 1992, march 30th

I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling. Everything feels awful; every inch of my body is aching, my head is pounding, and the worst part is-it wasn't a dream, it was never a dream. It's been days since his death, and every time I wake up, I hope it was just a nightmare, but no-it's all real.

First, the strange feeling of being watched, then my dad's death. What's next? In fact, I haven't figured anything out yet. I'm certain that if any more uncertain mysteries enter my life, I'll send myself to an asylum. I'd definitely go cray-cray.

I sat up from my bed, walked to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. As I looked in the mirror, I told myself there's no changing anything. Then, I wiped my face with a towel and got ready.

Today is his funeral, dreadful because it's also my birthday. Well, I've never been one to celebrate. The last birthday party I had was when I was thirteen. I remember asking my dad if we could stop celebrating, and when he asked why, I couldn't really give him a reason. Still, we agreed to stop.

There were hundreds of people at the funeral (I think)-his business partners, friends, Lana and her family, our relatives, and some faces I barely recognized.

My mom and I were together, and I couldn't help but notice that something seemed off. For the past few weeks, I've been feeling a bit unsettled, and I think my mother has been acting strangely as well. I'm tempted to consider getting some therapy, just to try to make sense of these feelings.

Of course, the lingering questions about my dad's death are still weighing on my mind. And this nagging sense that something or someone has been watching me, though I can't quite put my finger on it. Before I can really address any of that, though, I need to have an open conversation with my mom. I have to ask her about the argument she and dad had-I need to know what went on between them.

After the pastor blessed his grave, my mom and I placed flowers on his coffin, along with others. As people offered their condolences, I couldn't help but feel small, noticing the pity in their faces. It's all overwhelming, and it makes me feel weak.

Hours passed, and almost everyone left. On our way home, my mom and I were sitting in the backseat. She seemed devastated, but I felt weird. Maybe now is the right time to ask her?

I straightened up and looked at her. "Mom?"
But the car suddenly turns somewhere secluded?

She looked at me. "Oh, Estrella, I'm sorry. Happy birthday, dear. It's painful that this is your memory on your 18th birthday."

She sighed and gave me a hug. Is she hiding something?

We both pulled back from the hug. I don't really care about my birthday. It's just that I couldn't help but feel my curiosity grow about all of this. I needed to ask my mom about what had been weighing on my mind, but before I could say anything, the car came to a stop.

I turned to the driver, slightly confused, then faced my mom again, ready to finally address the argument that had been stuck in my head. I didn't even really focus on the car stopping-my focus was solely on having this important conversation.

But that nagging feeling crept back over me again. Not now, I thought, hoping I wasn't being followed even here. I tried to push the unease aside and steeled myself to have the difficult talk with my mom about what was the argument between her and dad that led to his death.

I was about to speak up, but I noticed my mom looking at the other side of the car window, sending some kind of signal? Before I could take a look, the door behind me swung open and a cloth was pressed on my face. I tried to fight back but felt too weak from whatever drug this person sprayed on the cloth. I was very-very dizzy.

I was dragged out of the car, drugged and weak. My mom didn't intervene. It's the third unanswered question adding to the growing mystery of my life, and the fourth is this: why am I being kidnapped, and why didn't my mom do anything?

I caught a glimpse of our car leaving as I was placed in a different one. My eyes felt heavy, and they slowly began to close.