An Innocent Mistake (#Wattys2016)

Chapter 17

I try to bring something different in my everyday life, but the circumstances before me fail my every bit of attempt.
I am again lying in the old, dingy room gazing among the naked walls. Tessie is only with me and everything else happened to be strange, even though I am just starting to learn them. One minute I would think that I know Ragenite so well, while the other, I don't know anything about her.
Every time I would build up hope to check behind curtains to see if I was now able to look out the window. But sadly, I have to look away like nothing is ever going to get better.
I grab Tessie from the bed and plan to go downstairs, since nothing seems to be left behind for good.
My steps creak the wooden stairs. They slowly end, as I search for Ragenite. I can hear the fainting noise coming from the kitchen, as if Ragenite is cooking. If she is, what would she be?
I go in the kitchen and see her shakily crouched at the bottom cabinet to dig up among utensils that exist not much in variety. Only the ones that are for compulsory use and unlike beyond that.
After a tiny while, as she was rousing from the painful position, she accidentally hit her head on the countertop and exasperatedly put the hand on the spot.
"This useless counter has to hurt me even though I haven't done anything to it. Stupid thing!" She got up, while keeping the hand sticked to the head. "Everything has to break my weak bones."
She murmurs in pain until she realizes that I have been standing at the kitchen entrance. She seems an old poor lady.
"Are you okay?" I observe her condition.
"Yes, dear. It just feels bad like I broke my skull."
I don't know how I could help her, but she doesn't mind my standing, watching her cluelessly. She comes out of the kitchen and sooth herself by sitting on the chair.
I notice the purplish bruise on her lower left cheek. It isn't loud but as I close my attention to it, it is visible in the wrinkle soft skin. Maybe it was when she tripped over the chair in the night. But that chair isn't part of this table set. It is some other one, from her room.
"Were you cooking?"
"Of course, otherwise I have nothing else to feed you tonight."
"Aren't you gonna eat? It would be only for me?"
Ragenite put aside the hand from the head, her hair were matted from rubbing and they were sticking out roughly.
She snickers. "Sweetie, do you think I can survive without eating tonight?"
"Maybe. I don't know. So you're gonna eat with me?." I spread a toothless grin across my slim lips, clearing all the doubts and misunderstanding. "But I am bored. I have nothing to do." I complain.
A pause diminishes the disturbance in the air, and Ragenite watches the floor, as if it resolves her deepest concerns. She doesn't move for the past seconds, deriving energy from stillness. Perhaps, she is groping her way out from my complaint that I feel is one of the reason. I am another pain in the butt.
I gather some conclusions from consistently fixing my begging eyes at her. I can't take them off until she manages to jerk out off the steadiness. It is stretching for eternity.
"I meant that I can spend some time with you if you wish to." I finally stab in my suggestion.
Then she comes out of some trance and without any idea, like she forgot what she was supposed to do, looks up at me. I have to look away because I can't stare into someone's eyes for longer. I would feel insecure.
"Oh, that sounds very kind of you," she says. "But you would still have nothing much to do. I will be in the kitchen." She escapes to distribute her concentration towards what she will be doing next.
"Can I look out from the door, not go anywhere. Just here in the house?"
There is only one window which had stack of dust obscuring the outside view. And from looking at it, it seems to be jammed in the frame.
She nods and wakes up from the chair, to head back to the kitchen.
I pad to the door and run hand over the smooth as silk steel handle. The door opens and I peek out, at first to make sure that nobody is there. But after swinging the half door open, I scan the street as far as down the block.
Then across the street, I spot a fat, chubby man, clutching the dog leash in his grip, as his Chihuahua sniffs the pavement. I am washed with a laugh, to see a bulky man having a tiny pet. The difference in size between them is captivating to a viewer like me.
Beside that, the street appears dead from anyone else's presence. I motion to pull my body out like I am free from digging dark burrows. The day outside is very beautiful, as a layer of afternoon shine unraveled from the softness of sky.
It is very relaxing and inspiring that I immediately wish to bring my sketch pad and blow the charming image on the blankness of paper. Occupy with the realistic beauty.
I run upstairs to the room, while Ragenite is busy inside with the work. And rummage in the bag, which is already crowded with few pairs of clothes and notebooks from school. I always recognize the sketchpad with its spiral, touching against my searching fingers. I fish it out instantly after the first feel and struggle to shove everything back in and run a zip over. Then chose my sketching pencil from the front pocket and snatch Tessie from the floor.
I tip-toe from Ragenite's back, whom is wholly consumed in her business, certainly unaware that I take advantage for standing by the door, to now sit in the small, but beautiful manicured front yard. She is so indulged that perhaps the slight creaking of the floorboard doesn't distract her.
I clamber down the few doorsteps and stumble on to the grass, bare feet. Then at the respective angle, where I am contend with the view, I drop my butts to the ground damaging several blades of grass.
I straightly look at the street across, with lined up houses and the perfect, dreamy sky overpowering the background.
That's all I want.
I skim through the pages for the blank sight and it is found after the sketch of lake. The one I captured in my sketchpad from the neighborhood lake park, I recall in my head. Before I would start, I flip back to the same scene and series of various past memories rush in,wildly tramping over one another. They come floating into like from an open door.
I stare into the space, enveloping a smile.
Then jostle out of them, as I feel a sting, or as if something crawled on to my feet in my absent mind. I throw forward, and smack the spot near the big toe. Oddly, there is nothing. Presumably, it helps me out from driving into ceaseless connecting thoughts.
As I suck in the fresh air, I meet the pencil nib to the crisp, smooth paper. It is waiting for me to mark a line and sketch ahead the new picture. Then I myself wouldn't want to be tortured, dawdling for even better time. So I begin sketching with hand grasping on a thin pencil, and it dances around the page.
While I am lost from the reality, and revel the constant sketching following the shading to make it appear realistic. I feel the sudden presence lingering near my back. That moment I ignore the tingling climbing my spine. But later it happens again and I lurch over the shoulder to see what it is.
There is Ragenite, merely bending reaching her knee of the left side and clasps the dress in the other hand. She smirks through her wrinkle skin, equally eager to know what I was doing. Her eyes speaks for her in gestures, like she is asking, what did I have find to keep myself busy.
"You found something to do, huh?" she starts.
Since I am covering the sketch with my arm, I glide it aside next to me and cordially bring the work out of lap. By the gust of wind, papers flutter and noisily flip, lapping over one another, escaping from under my hand. I manage to clip them in between two fingers and proudly show to Ragenite, impatient in the overflowing hope and exuberant.
"I was sketching. It's my hobby."
Ragenite advances, crunching over the grass. She squints in for a better view.
Quite a while, there is no response from her as she seeks more time to observe. I can see the scene of my sketch in her hazel eyes, containing relentless admiration for my effort. They seem to burst out with appreciation, that I can't clamp the excitement in one place.
But before I would prepare for the cascade of compliments. I see those same eyes tense up in the slow glow of anger. Her brows furrow, producing bands over the nose bridge, and the bits of her face seethe in fierceness.
I flinch away in shock, and my grin fades like a dust blown by an oppressive wind. Ghastly, I drift my sight from her direction and drop them to sketch. So many questions give birth in my head, simmering in restlessness.
My eyes stretch wide in astonishment tangle in great deal of confusion. I feel the normality of this situation is lost. Everything seems to flip over to the bad side.
What's going on?
Has she see something bad in my sketch that got her extremely mad, I question myself.
I don't know if I am getting answer for what I have done wrong.
Spending some seconds looking away from her, I fearsomely spin my consideration back. This time I barely meet eyes with her and when I do, I promptly snatch them away before I would draw into more trouble.
Ragenite rises to her stature and almost growls," That is the most hideous thing I have ever seen. I wish to spit on it."
Right after filling my ears with that extreme rudeness and heart-breaking comment. I clutch my sketch pad and Tessie and run up to my room, while tears bawl out for being miserably insulted.
I slam the door behind me and toss myself on the bed. Water from my eyes trickle out and wet the pillow, as I despairingly weep. Then midst of that, I bolt my face out of the pillow, while the new tears stream down the cheeks and flip open the sketchpad to that same sketch.
I mull over it quietly, mopping the tears. Splashing glances to every bit of detail, but nothing comes across that can explain that my sketch is ugly. Maybe I can't see it because I made it. But even after that, I wouldn't call it my bad effort.
An unexpectedly another tear bubbles in my dry eyes, and it falls on the paper, not giving a second to absorb in the paper and splotch. I wipe my eyes from the shirt once more. Then smoothly pat the surface of the paper, devoid of stain. But that stain was colored in my heart that wouldn't ever leave me. I can't stop thinking that I was rejected.
She wants to spit on my work?
I start crying again with that in mind.
Whatever those notions that I tended earlier are quite coming true. My instincts attempt to think me to my safety, but I reject them as I am being now. Even a slightest thought is never weak. No matter how small and unnecessary it seems, it has some sort of value when it bothers you despite a useless motive.
If Ragenite was born out her mother's blood, then she must be bad like her. I can't live here. I don't want to get insulted.
I bundle my stuff and prepare to abandon this house. As I am still in the room, I pick on noise coming from downstairs. It is a voice, thin and high-pitched, cackling loudly, holding the house in the hand.
Knowing, that it is very intimidating, I challenge to march out from the room.
I see Ragenite behaving unnaturally, by raising her arms in authority, having no shame in depicting that she is making fun of me.
I think I can design the path, furtively before she notices. But she fails my plan. I have mistakenly caused enough loud noise from the last step of the stairs that it triggers her to look to me. All the laughter ceases from her. And instead freeze in slightest surprise, setting the pair of eyes on my nervousness. I feel myself absorbing waves of trouble.
All of a sudden, along with the halt of laughter, the hue of melancholy drains out from her complexion. She gradually settles in the peaceful state and jolts into obliviousness.
"Where are you going, me dear?" the same voice of hers is back in her throat, the honey glazed tone.
She looks at my hanging bag on the shoulders.
"I am going. I don't want to live here." I announce with clarity.
"Do you know what you're saying?" She draws close to me.
"Yes. I can't stay here."
She begins touching my skin, caressing heartily. I kick her hand out of my face. She does not seem nice and kind at all to me at that moment. Everything about her from head to toe, makes me feel uneasy. I can't tolerate her presence lingering in my closest distance.
"Why are you leaving?" she says. "You don't like it here anymore?"
"You can think that."
"But why?"
"Because you called my artwork hideous and ugly that you want to spit on it."
A blend of puzzlement woven her expression, with the tip of finger pin to her chin, she doesn't quite look satisfied. And sometimes she depicts that she has never done this and I am blatantly remarking useless faults on her.
Then she lowers her head in some sense of shame and perhaps is finding a way to resolve this issue. It doesn't do much work for her, when she said that.
"I'm sorry if you have heard that, but you are not going anywhere for now."
"No. Leave me. I know you're tired of me and want me to be out of here." I raise my voice in aggression.
Then there is a temporary pause from me. I suck in lungful breath. Ragenite is still in her position, like a shadow of a dead tree.
"If I wanted you to be out of here then why would I stop you?"
I groan in frustration. And elude looking to her and melts my gaze randomly at something else.
"I don't know." I recklessly answer, almost rolling my eyes and subtly fold the arms across the lower chest.
"I don't care what had happened, but you are not going anywhere. Have that in your mind."
"Do I have to?" I ask, concerned about the rules that she strictly told me.
I am more agitated and that instead of she apologizing me, she is trying to rule me by her orders.
"Yes. Now go to your room. I am disappointed at how fast you have thought to leave this place." The concoction of dismal and chaos sketches unique lines near her eyes and around the creasing of the upper lid.
Reluctantly, I jump back to the room resentfully and hurl the bag on the floor, going banging to the bed. Though, whatever happened, I can't cope the disarray inside of me. For one minute, the disappointment fumes from me and the other minute, frustration stomps in my veins.
When the night thickens, I pile on my fatigued back, confusion roaring in my head. I can't match anything. Everything seems a huge mess. Nothing makes sense, especially when Ragenite acts as if what happened. Like she isn't present in that circumstances and her brain is sabotaged by something powerful than her. Otherwise, she is a feeble old lady.
I snap my eyes close and desire to feel the composure.
Taking a sigh of relief, I loosen the tight knot and carelessly dangle. The somber cloud drifts away from overhead, deserting me in my own condition. And has given up on pressuring me with tough time. The surrounding disperses serenity like happiness spreading smiles.
As always I am oblivious when a slumber drags me into flowery bed and supportive breeze stroking my skin, (in my imagination) which raises my urge to cuddle into it.
🔸
Hahahaha!!
Sinister laugh.
The corresponding tone that my ears has heard before. I can't miss it even in my sleep.
I wake up and this time knowingly, I mutely foot to the door. The laugh grows more aggressive, as if it would shoot through the walls of my room. I open the door and warily grope the steps in the darkness as I once had done before. The wall near me came in contact with me and I touch past to obtain the following steps.
Soon, Ragenite's room approaches to my right. Secretively, I peek from the corner and discover that the door was opens more than enough. Everything that happens is nearly visible. Through it, I spot Ragenite loudly laughing, like nothing matter, even under the fact that it is midnight.
Bloodshot beady eyes rumor fearful ideas to me, while scorching hot anger drips from her forehead instead of sweat.
It is bizarre again.

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