Author's Note:

This shit is pretty long so if you want to jam to something while reading along, I suggest you check out Tame Impala's "The Less I Know The Better" as it is the inspiration for this not-so-short short story. 

--------

The air was dank and muddy as I stepped out of the hospital.

I was sweating all over and there’s a dull ache in my shoulders, but nonetheless, I felt the best I had in sixteen years.

It felt good, honestly – the soft touch of autumn coming in, the smell of dried leaves beneath the soles of my worn out boots, even the howling of the sirens. All of it, I thought, was the calling of freedom. All of it were the things a man should feel. All of this, including the pain and exhaustion, are privileges honored to men who are crazy enough to be called “functional members of society.” I’m not saying I’m one of them, but it sure did feel good. It felt good to be alive.

I didn’t stand on ceremony for too long. I walked casually towards the guard post by the big, metal gates separating the “patients” from the “functional members of society.” There was portly man, probably in his forties, chomping down a Big Mac through his pig face, seeming to not mind that Code Red was being blasted through the speaker. I tilted my cap a little to hide my face and knocked on the door. It was starting to get quite chilly outside. For a moment, I wished I was back inside my cell, with a nice wool blanket and the ever-pleasant company of rats. I pushed the thought away when I saw the ol’ porkchop finally stand up and open the door.

“The fuck you want?” He said, spit flying from his slimy, pink lips.

“Seen anyone suspicious?” I kept my voice low, mimicking the owner of the uniform I was wearing.

“No and even if I did, there’s no way they could get past the gates” He said with a chuckled and took a huge bite from his goddamn Big Mac.

“How so?” I took a quick glance inside the small room. Atop the small desk, I could see his walkie-talkie amidst the clutter. It was turned off.

“Mate, you’re stupider than the poor blokes in here!” The porkchop laughs again. “I got the password, yeah?” He leaned in close as if he was telling a secret. His breath smelled like tuna, cannabis, and stupidity. For an employee of a high-security facility, he was surely way too slow for the job.

“I need to get out. Open the door.”

“Why should I? You got a key doncha?” He pointed to his left eye and gave me a quick wink. He burst out laughing, spraying chunks of meat from his mouth.

I stayed silent.

“Come on, lad! Why the long face, hmm?” He started pouting like the idiot that he was and mocked me.

He looked at me with his mouth agape and with a puzzled look on his face.

“You do have a key, right?” I saw one of his hands move slowly from his burger, to underneath the table, but it was too late. The events went by in a flash, too fast for me to react. First, he dropped his burger to the floor. Then he grabbed a gun that was apparently strapped under his tiny desk. The next thing I know, he was aiming a pistol between my brows with his fingers ready to pull the trigger.

“Take the fucking hat off, or I’ll shoot.” He said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, love.”

“Put your hands behind your h-head!” The porkchop managed to splutter as he took the safety off the gun. The gun rattled between his fleshy palms as he tried his best to intimidate me. Like a good person of the law, I did as I was told. I put both of my hands behind my neck and took my hat off. He glanced at the table beside him and saw the device. Without a second thought, he moved his hand away from the gun and reach out for the walkie-talkie.

Then I pulled out a shiv.

He was too slow. One moment he had a gun pointed at my face, next moment he was lying on the floor, trembling in fear as he held the flabs of his neck together with his hands. With my hands behind my head, I managed to pull the cold metal off the back of the coat. The blade slashed across the fat and flesh around his neck, spraying blood across the small room.

“I told you it wasn’t a good idea.” I said as I took off the police hat and knelt beside his head. He sputtered out blood and saliva as he tried to string together phonemes through his small mouth. Without a second thought, I poked his eye with the shiv. Starting from the corner, I worked my way in to take the ball out of the socket. He flailed his limbs in agony as I slowly took off his eye. The sounds he made were nothing human. His agonized wails sounded like that of a boar in a slaughterhouse. Amidst the carnage laid out in front of me, I managed to grin. As he tried to scream out, a mix of blood and saliva sprayed from his small mouth.

“Not nice.” I said as I wiped the blood off of my face. Finally, his eye popped off. His other eye was starting to fog when I cut the veins off the other. 

As I slowly stood up, I started to hear barking from the corner. The hospital is awake. Sitting by the door of the room was a small scanner, barely the size of a child's fist. I quickly polished the eye against the wool of the jacket and put it against it.

Ding.

In a loud roar, the main gates of the hospital spread open. I grabbed ol' Porkchop's gun and tucked a pack of ammunition on my coat. Without a second thought, I bolted out of the room and through the gates just as the dogs and the other guards rounded the corner. 

I know what you’re thinking. I must be crazy, right? Let me tell you that I, Greger Anton Tomasetti, am far from it. 

You go into Sacred Heart a man, you leave as an apparition - mirror image of who you once were. Funny. They say they put wankers with loose screws inside psych wards. The truth is, the only time you truly go nuts is when you actually enter the four walls of Hell. If you ask me, every other man outside of it only have their screws driven in way too tightly. 

I’m not crazy – I’m just a man with a reason.

And there’s one more asshole I need to teach a lesson to.

-----

It was 2 in the morning when I received the most chilling message in my entire life.

Greger Tomasetti escaped Sacred Heart Mental Hospital.

“Come back to bed,” Loretta purred from the sheets.

I ignored all her calls and put my clothes on.

He’s coming. I can already feel it.

I ran to my car and drove to the hospital, with the feeling of the world slowing collapsing behind me.

-----

I ran as fast and as far as my legs could take me. My worn out legs sped through mud and undergrowth until I finally reached the nearly desolate main road. I could hear the barking getting louder and louder behind me. I know I should keep running but there’s no way I could outrun a pack of dogs and live to tell the tale.

I did what I had to do.

I signaled a passing car.

I waved my arms around like a madman when I saw headlights coming down the road. A bright blue Mustang pulled over the side of the road and the driver, a young man in his 20’s, rolled down the window.

“You okay, mate?” He said, eyeing my bloodied clothes.

“Please, sir you have to help me please! They’re chasing me, they’re trying to kill me! Please I just need to get to the police station!” I tried my best to keep myself from laughing at how stupid I sounded, but then again, isn’t this how they do it in the movies? 

“Okay, man, calm down…tell me what happened.” He said as if he was talking an idiot. Behind me, I could hear the dogs closing in on my blood trail, their barks getting louder and louder as the clock ticks.

“Alright that’s it.” I pulled out Porkchop’s gun and shot his face. Bits of bone and brain splattered across the dashboard and windshield, creating a morbid masterpiece of the human body. I quickly went around the car, with the feeling of dread behind my feet. I could already feel the four walls of the hospital around me.

No. Not this time.

I opened the driver’s side and pulled off the poor bloke’s body from the car.

“Sorry, mate. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.” I blew a kiss to his face and got in the car. I drove off as the guards got to the road.

----

It was too late.

I got to the hospital way too late and Greger Tomasetti was officially out of the grounds.

“YOU IDIOTS! YOU BLOODY, PIG-HEADED IDIOTS!” I yelled at the 4 remaining nurses on duty that night. "Are you telling me that one man - I repeat, ONE MAN - escaped a hospital with FOUR OF YOU IDIOTS ON DUTY?" All of them held their tongues.

“Well? Tell me?”

“Dr. Fausner!” Dr. Raymund Keller yelled as he ran through the hall. “Dr. Fausner! You have to see this. Now.” I followed the young man to the security room. Inside, the guard in charge of the security cameras appeared to be sleeping. Instinctively, I slapped the back of his head to wake him up. Only problem was, he didn’t. He barely even moved.

“No use doing that, Doctor. Guy’s dead.” A policeman said from the door. He looked to be about 60 and had a thick mustache covering his mouth.

“What the hell is going on in my hospital?”

“Apparently, a patient escaped.”

“Tomasetti is not just a patient, he’s a criminal on the loose!”

“Yes, yes I know. Guy murdered his wife’s lover with a broken bottle of wine. Old news, Doctor. Old news." He was holding a file - which I assume was Tomasetti's criminal record - and idly flipped through the pages. "So he was brought here for mental instability...shouldn't this place be a bit more guarded than it is now?"

“Excuse me?”

"With a nutcase like him on your list of patients, shouldn't this place be - I don't know - a bit more secure?"

"This is a hospital, not a high-security prison."

“Before you go barking mad like everyone else here, you might want to check this out first. I’ll take it from here, son.” He gestured for the doctor to leave. Once we were alone in the room, he closed the door shut.

“Do you care to explain exactly what happened, officer?” I pressed on, crossing my arms.

“Watch.” He pointed at the monitors.

And I did, and I sincerely wished that I was dreaming. In camera 16 – the camera inside Tomasetti’s room – a playback was running. It showed Tomasetti patiently waiting for two nurses to give him his dinner. It was already 9:30 in the evening. He was facing the wall and did the usual drill: hands behind his head, knees apart, and quiet as a rock. I recognized both of them: they were the most useless pieces of shit I have ever worked with. 

All of a sudden, as one of the nurses placed his dinner on the table right beside him, out comes a long, sharp piece of metal and pierces his throat. Before the other one could react, he stifles his shouts with a blade to the neck as well. He then takes a bite of his dinner and goes out of the room, closing the door behind him.

In camera 7, down the hallway of his room, he’s seen sneaking past the few nurses on call that night.

In camera 5, the guard inside the security room - probably seeing that a patent has escaped -hurries out just as Tomasetti turns into the corner. The guard shoots him in the shoulder and Tomasetti throws the piece of metal at his head. He toppled down like a big sack of meat, spilling blood everywhere. Tomasetti is seen dragging the body into the room and then sneaks off to the exit. 

For a brief moment, I glanced at the man in front of me, rotting on an office chair.

In camera 3, near the exit, he’s seen shoving the same piece of metal down a guard’s throat from behind. The guard was caught unawares and all he could do was flail his arms in a futile attempt to injure the criminal.

In camera 2, he’s seen dragging the body to a nearby closet. Moments later, a man emerges from the room wearing a coat and what appears to be the guard’s clothes.

In the camera outside of the building, he’s seen walking towards the guard post. Not even 2 minutes later, the windows of the room was covered in blood and the hospital gate open moments later and he’s last seen running out as the other doctors and guards chase after the madman.

I was pale all over as I watched the footage. I sunk into the chair next to the dead man. 

My hands were trembling and my heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest. Right now, I wish that this is all just a terrible dream. I wished that Greger Tomasetti was back in his room, rotting as he should be. I can’t bear the thought of all my skeletons ripped out from my closet. This can’t be happening…let this be a dream...let this be a terrible, terrible dream.

I glanced at the man beside me. There was a huge, gaping hole in his head. His mouth was agape and filled with blood. His dead, brown eyes were rolled back and his face was contorted in pain. From behind, he looked like he was sleeping. Somehow, I saw myself in his position. I shuddered at the thought.

“Why? Why would something like this happen?” I was almost in tears, but I dare not show weakness. Not now. Especially not now.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you in private, Doctor.” He pulled out a white envelope from his coat.

“We found this in Tomasetti’s room. It’s addressed to you.”

I felt my heart drop to my stomach.

-----

“Wise men say…only fools rush in….”

“But I can’t help falling in love with you…” My god. She was beautiful.

I watched Loretta’s lips curl at the edges. Her hair was a beautiful, red waterfall behind her. Her eyes, a striking blue against her fair face. They were the type you’d long to stare at for hours on end. Her big, beautiful, blue eyes were the type that would make you want to wake up every morning just to see them again. I used to always tell her that they were the most beautiful out of all her breath-taking features. She was magnificent. If perfection could take on a human form, no doubt it would be her.

I remembered the first time I met her. It was at a fair. I don’t remember what it was about, nor do I remember where it was held. But I do know that I met the most beautiful lady in the world there. She was a walking enigma, born to entice every soul she meets into her world. She was genetically engineered to captivate a man with nothing but a stare, and make him fall in love with just one word. Loretta Reed was a natural born heartbreaker.

I sped through the roads with the police coming close at my tail. I can feel it now. The adrenaline, the sudden rush of energy bursting through your veins. It made me feel alive, like how heroine is to an addict. I pressed my heel down to the gas.

She had shorter hair then and a younger face. She had a laugh that could make you euphoric. It was the kind of laugh that would make you want to keep her laughing. It was the kind that made you wonder how something so simple can be so beautiful.

And no doubt he thought that too.

I was standing by the door of our bedroom as I watched her caress the intruder in our “love bed,” as she used to call it. He was a handsome man, with a perfectly chiselled body and a face of an Adonis. He was all the things I wish I was—all the things I wasn’t and will never be. No doubt she thought that too.

They were kissing now. There was a dull ache at the middle of my chest where my heart is supposed to be. My head was foggy with alcohol and my vision is growing faint. I raised the half-empty bottle of wine to my lips and watched them.

I was getting close now. I knew that she wouldn’t stay in our old apartment, so I took a quick turn to the house of an old friend of mine: Doctor Mitchell Fausner.

Who would’ve thought that the very man you grab a beer with every Friday night and shared your deepest thoughts with could turn you over like yesterday’s laundry?

They were beautiful together. A beautiful woman and an equally beautiful man. It was a perfect match. Perhaps, that hurt more than the infidelity itself. The fact that a girl like her could never be with a guy like me was the plain truth that I couldn’t face in our brief year of marriage. She never loved me. I was nothing but an experiment—a detour from the main course. Maybe in her heart, I was the lover and he was her husband. I was too ambitious to think that I could ever be deemed worthy of such a love.

“Happy anniversary, love.” I said as I entered the room. Both of them jumped in surprise and I watched the feeling of dread slowly sink into their beautiful faces.

“What are you doing here?” Loretta said. She had a beautiful voice.

“I live here.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a business trip?” She had pretty eyes.

“Cancelled.”

“Greg…I…” Her freckles were a constellation, artfully dusted across her cheeks.

“Shhh…it’s okay. I just came here to grab my stuff. I’ll get going in a bit.”

And I did exactly that.

As I stumbled in the room, I accidentally dropped the bottle. I was too heartbroken to care about that. I grabbed some clothes, my toothbrush, and went out of the door.

And I never went back.

I felt the tears run down my face.

How can a man be so fucking cruel?

Mitchell Fausner was a man I thought I could put my faith on. We were practically inseparable. He was one of the very few people I’ve let into my life. Yet he was the first one to stand against me in court - in the time I needed him the most.

I was charged of murdering Frederick Goval, Loretta’s lover, on the day I caught them in bed with each other.

“He is mentally ill. I am his therapist and I can confidently stand by my statement. I am not saying that he is innocent of the crime, but I know that he has been going through a lot lately and I have proof of that.” I watched Mitch in utter disbelief as he stood there looking a like precious white knight. He knew that I never did anything wrong.

The night I left our apartment, I went to his house and stayed the night there. I promised him that it will only be for about a week, just until I could find a place of my own. The next morning I didn’t see him. The next thing I knew, the police came by to pick me up, and then there I was, in court, standing in trial for murdering a 26 year old delivery man in my own home with a wine bottle. That was exactly what I had told the judge.

But they wouldn’t listen. No one would.

No one will listen unless you have a pretty little face or maybe some pretty little cash up your coat jacket.

I parked the car in the driveway and hastily got to the door. I turned the knob and luckily, it was still open. Why doesn’t she learn to lock her doors? I carefully tread the way to Mitch’s room. I knew this place like the back of my hand; the hardwood floors, the faded green wallpaper, even the mild scent of cornflower in the air. It felt as if I was back in our carefree days before all the evil played out.

I stood right in front of his bedroom door. I knew for sure who was on the other side. I took a deep breath and pushed it open.

The room was small. It was illuminated by a single lamp that she left open. Lying on the bed was Loretta, naked in all her beauty. Despite the breath taking view of her, I felt nothing but loathing. I used to honour her body like she was a goddess. Now, she just looks like another face in the crowd - a part of the common rabble. Once you’ve seen the Devil’s horns, you’ll never forget the sight of them.

“Why are you here?” she murmured against the pillow. Her eye was open and she was staring at me across the room. There was no love in them.

“I came to see you.” She was beautiful.

“Aren’t you supposed to be rotting in a cell?” She smirked at her own sly remark.

“Well, supposed to be, until your boyfriend sent me to a mental hospital.” I took a few steps into the room.

“Did he now?” She rolled to her back so she can fully face me from the bed. “Oh yes, I remember. I told him to.” This is news.

“Why?”

“So you wouldn’t have to rot in a prison.” She raised a brow at me as if that was the most obvious reason in the world.

“Excuse me?”

“The night you caught me, Mitch came here and saw me with Fred. One thing led to another and a simple argument turned into a brawl, and a simple brawl led into…well I guess you already knew where I let to, right?”

“So you’re telling me…that Mitchell…Mitchell Fausner, killed your fuck boy?”

“It was an accident.”

“And you pinned it on me?”

“Your fingerprints were there, no one else’s. What else could we do? And you should be thankful. If I hadn’t dropped a word on his ear, he would have gladly watched you get dragged into prison. Plus, he thinks that it was in good nature to send you to his hospital so he could keep a close eye on you.”

“So he can watch my world slowly fall apart…” I was angry now. My ears were ringing and I could feel my veins popping in my neck. How can someone be so cruel?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Mitch always used to tell me that the best way to control your anger is to stop and breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breath out. Breathe in, breathe out.

"Why did you do it?"

"He had always wanted me, Greg...he always have"

"And he wanted you for his own...didn't he?"

"That was obvious enough, wasn't it?"

“Loretta…did you love me?” She didn’t answer. “Loretta, answer me please.”

“Might have.”

“Might have?”

“Might have.” I opened my eyes to look at her. My god, was she beautiful.

“Okay, thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

“You gave me some courage.”

“Courage?” I heard something click.

“To do this.”

I took out the gun and blasted it away at her pretty little face.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

One bullet for each year.

Seven. Eight. Reload. Nine. Ten.

I could hear the sirens in front of the house.

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

“Freeze!” I heard them yell.

Sixteen.

There were feathers flying everywhere. Her body looked like a mangled piece of red meat, sprawled in an unimaginable position against the blood-stained mattress. Her body was left exposed and oozing with blood, her once beautiful face now in ruins. Still, her beautiful blue eyes remained, still breath taking even as they bulged from their sockets. Amidst the chaos in the room, I can’t help but notice how striking blue looks against the red.

I barely felt a thing as the men tackled me down to the floor and cuffed me. The gun slid halfway across the room and stopped short beside Loretta's yellow dress - the same dress she wore when I first met her. No resistance came from me that time. There is no elaborate plan of escape, no blueprints hidden up my sleeves. I couldn’t have hoped for a better release than this.

Loretta…

My god, was she beautiful.

--------

With trembling fingers, I reached out to take the envelope from his hands. I was sweating bullets in spite of the chill in the room. No doubt that the man could see that.

It was a simple, white envelope. At the back, it read “To Fausner, with love” and nothing else. I could scarcely breathe as I read what the madman had to say.

My dearest Mitchell Fausner,

First and foremost, I’d like to congratulate you on your promotion in the past month. I’m sure it was quite a task, getting that fancy little nameplate and that fancy little office in your fancy little hospital. I wonder, how many patients did you have to choke to get there? How many soles did you have to lick? Most importantly, how many of these things did the board members knew about you?

I could feel the pit in my stomach growing. My breath is falling short. I hardly felt anything as the officer tapped my shoulder.

Enclosed herein is a compilation of all the atrocities you’ve committed in the past 16 years, complete with documents to prove your lack of professionalism and morale.

I opened the envelope once again, and there it was. A thick folder containing all the horrors I could only imagine. I can’t begin to perceive how a man like Greger Tomasetti managed to get the best of me, or better yet, how a man like him managed to get his slimy paws on things like this.

“You look a bit pale there, Doctor.” I could barely hear the officer standing only a mere 5 feet away from me and my demons. “May I ask why?”

“It’s probably the lack of sleep, sir.” I prayed to God that he believes that.

“Do you want some coffee, son?” He had his brow raised this time. I could almost see the gears turning in his head.

“A cup of coffee would be lovely. Thank you.” He turned around and left the room. As soon as the door hit home, I turned the lock and blocked the handle with a chair. I took of my jacket and covered the camera, not minding that all of it was being recorded. Once I was assured that I was alone in a room with a rotting corpse and a deadly envelope, I took out the folder.

It was a thick brown folder, with its contents threatening to spill. I sat down by the door and flipped it open. It felt as if the room was shrinking around me. Everything was spinning and the very air felt toxic. Inside contained letters and photographs, each one more horrifying than the other.

The first photograph was of me savagely beating a patient with a baton. Her face was all bloodied as she tried to shield it with her thin, frail hands. Her hospital gown was hiked up, showing scratch marks and bruises around her thighs. The zipper of my slacks were down, and my belt undone. The floor under her was littered with splatters of blood and teeth. Her face showed nothing but fear. My face showed nothing but contempt. It wouldn’t take a genius to know what was happening here.

I took out a flask from my coat hanging on the camera and flipped through more of the images.

There were only 5 pictures, and all of them seemed to have been screenshots from security cameras. The only people that were allowed access to security records were the guards and me. If there was a case that required the help of the police, they too have the right to rummage through the files. No doubt that they had already done that. How the fuck did a bastard like Greger Tomasetti managed to get his hands on these? There had to be an accomplice. The computers were all encrypted and if anyone tried to hack it, an alarm would be set off.

And then it clicked.

I quickly ran to the guard’s desk and saw that the playbacks were all running. Only the guard here would know the password so it would be impossible for the policeman to open and run all of this…unless someone did it for him.

I looked at one of the screens and saw that it was pitch black. That’s the camera inside this room. I checked the playback from hours ago, and my jaw dropped to the floor.

There he was. Tomasetti was placing the dead guard’s body on the chair. He turns around and he seems to be fiddling with the computer for a bit. He then glances at the dead man beside him and takes his hand. He places his dead fingers on the scanner, and I could see the computer loading something. He turns around and sees the camera.

The sides of his mouth curled into a sneer. His eyes were dull white orbs, full of menace. He knew I was going to watch this. He’s always too smart for his own good.

In the video, he’s seen writing something on a piece of paper and raises it to the camera.

HELLO, FAUSNER AND FRIENDS. I THINK THE WHITE ENVELOPE HIDDEN IN MY ROOM WOULD BE OF INTEREST TO YOU.

I felt the tears trickle down my face.

Tomasetti turns around and types something on the computer. On the side of the room, the printer is ejecting what seems to be the very images that I am holding. When he was done, he turned around to give one last smile at the camera and leaves.

Only one question is left unanswered now.

How did the pictures get in the envelope if the envelope was in his room the whole time?

I glanced at his letter once again and saw what else he was hiding.

Secondly, I just want to give you a heads up. By the time you read this, your girlfriend (who is also my ex-wife, you dipshit) is probably dead, if not dying. I advise that you bolt your doors and close your windows for now. Think of it as a friendly gesture from me. After all, you did went through all that trouble to "fix my head."

I’m sure you’re wondering why I’d offer a hand while you’re sinking in the pit that I so lovingly dug up for you. See, you’ve helped me in a way. No you didn’t eradicate the disease in my head. If anything, you just gave it a supporting nudge. I do not condemn you for that, since there is nothing to condemn in the first place. The damage, if you would allow the term, only helped me build the courage I needed to burn some bridges. 

And for that, I thank you.

Sincerely not yours,

Greger Tomasetti

P.S.

Money can never buy you loyalty, Mitch. It was fairly easy getting all their testimonies, especially when they’re so stupid to think that you were going actually going to trial.

My head snapped up when I heard someone rattling the knob.

“Open the door, son.” The officer said along with three sharp knocks. Come on, Fausner! Think! Think!

I can’t jump off the window, since there were no fucking windows in here. I can’t escape the building considering that by now, it must be swarming with police. This leaves me with no other option.

Inside the folder were letters showing proof of my exploits. That encompasses bribery, to silence curious listeners, and doing favors for those who I deemed well enough for them. All of that was done inside Sacred Heart - the very institution that sought to help those in need. I used to think that no one could trace them all to me. But I’m mistaken.

All of the letters were testimonies of bribery from men I thought I could trust. Enclosed within each one was believable proof of my exchange with them. What’s even more baffling is that they were all written as if they were addressing a judge and jury. Greger Tomasetti was known to be a smart man before he entered Sacred Heart, but I never truly believed it. Until now.

I laid out all of the contents of the envelope on the ground and fished a lighter from my pocket. Let the flames begin.

“Open the damn door, Fausner. Don’t make this harder for yourself!” He banged on the handle, and before long, it broke loose just as I was arming myself with the guard’s gun.

“Come in and I’ll shoot!” I could hear other people outside of the door now. Gruff whispers and people hushing each other. I felt like a shy animal inside a cage with people eager to see me. I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my cold, sweaty body like a hot drink on a cold night. The ringing on my ears were getting louder and louder. My heart is seconds away from bursting out of my chest. I was left with no other option.

“Easy now, son. We don’t want to hurt you. We just want to talk.”

“I’LL FUCKING SHOOT!” I could feel the hot tears running down my face. I nervously flicked the safety off the gun and tried to focus my unsteady hands at the door. At the other side, I could hear them whispering.

“Officer? What’s your name?” I could feel myself shaking all over. I could see all of my patients’ faces looking at me. I could hear them sneering at me, their breath cold at the nape of my neck. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

They’re calling me.

“Sam. My name is Sam.” I could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Sam? Okay, Sam. Do you have any children?” I was sobbing at this point. I can’t do this.

“Yes. A wife and a daughter, Mitch. Can I call you Mitch?”

“Yes, please…please call me Mitch.” I felt my knees buckle under me. Everything was a blur. Amidst the commotion inside my head I could hear someone tallying the names. Isabella, Coral, Jeremy, Dwight. All the names I thought I buried. Jonathan. Denise. Rene. France. All the names I thought I could forget.

I am left with no other option.

“Mitch, I’m going to go in now. Can you promise me you won’t shoot?”

“Sam, go home. Go to your wife, tell her you love her. Tell her you’re sorry. Hug your children. Kiss them. Tell them that daddy is with them. Tell them you love them. Can you do that, Sam? This might be the last time they’d hear it.”

“Mitch…calm down. You’re going to be fine.”

“Sam, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for doing this. Will you ever forgive me?” The air felt all too suffocating. My lungs felt like balloons threatening to pop. My eyes felt like red hot coals, oozing out of their sockets.

“Mitch, you’ll be fine.”

“How are you sure of that?”

He did not answer.

The door swung open like a hurricane, and five armed and armored men emerged.

“Freeze! Drop your weapon!” The old man said.

“I’m sorry.” Garreck. Priscilla. Jane. Vicky.

“I am so sorry.” I pointed the gun to my head and I—

I've had a couple of pretty embarrassing stories in my mere 16 years of pathetic existence in this equally pathetic world. From skirts flying over my head to my boobs hanging out in the open - you name it, I've been there. However, there is absolutely nothing - and I mean, nothing - that can compare to what happened in the pool party of 2008.

It was your regular ol' summer day in the Philippines, all hot and humid. My neighbor - let's call him Fuckface - decided to beat the heat and invited me and my friends to go swimming in his front yard. He had this really big inflatable pool and it was about a foot deep. So that afternoon, he knocked on my door and asked me if I wanted to tag along in this pool party exhibition of his.  With me being a swimming enthusiast, I said hell yeah with no hesitation. After I grabbed a swimsuit, he and I went knocking on our neighbor's doors and asked them to join in on the fun.

After a few minutes of friend searching, we ended up having 5 kids in the group, including us. Let's call our three additional friends, A, B, and C (I know I'm so creative with names.) So all of us went to this kid's house and set up the giant pool. I was in charge of filling it. In other words, I was the one in charge of holding the hose while the other motherfuckers swam around like a bunch of frogs in a pond.

While I was filling it, A was standing next to me. He was hopping from foot to foot and his face was pale and tight. I asked him what got in his panties and he just kept hopping like a bunny on cocaine. Ignoring him, I went on with my task of being an inanimate hose-holding object. (Why? Because my friends were dicks and I was a pushover.) 

In a few minutes, the whole pool was filled to the brim and I was all ready to dip in and soak my sweaty body on the water. Then suddenly, mothafucking A jumped into the water - yes, he jumped into a foot-deep inflatable pool - dragging me along with his fat ass. I landed face first on the water with A on top of me, clutching onto my thin body like an obese koala on a stick. 

Then he started screaming. 

Turns out, our little genius broke his damn ankle in the process of trying to cannonball into the pool. He was screaming a creative string of profanity through the flabs of his cheeks as he held his teeny tiny foot near him. I was till pretty much wrapped up around his arms, with my head a few inches above the water and his arm over me, trapping my body underneath.

A few seconds later, we started to smell something. Friend C started joking about shit and whatnot when all of a sudden, good ol' Fuckface screams out: "OH MY GOD SHE [that would be me] SHAT IN THE POOL!" All of a sudden, all 4 of them - including the ever-genius A - hopped off the pool to witness the carnage. 

Turns out there was a turd the size of my fist sitting right beside my skinny butt, discoloring the water surrounding it. I stood up, and there was shit on my bottom and on my thighs, and even some on my hair, damn man, shit was everywhere. Shit literally got real. It wasn't til I got home (after much embarrassment, of course) that I concluded that A had, in fact, shat his stupid self while he was screaming in agony. Why did Fuckface blame it on me? I don't know. That's why I call him Fuckface. And although it obviously wasn't me who turned the pool party into a poop party, they would never let me live it down. 

Needless to say, that was the last time I ever hung out with them again. 

With weak, rheumatic hands, I picked up my ukulele. My old, wrinkled fingers brushed against the worn-out strings and in a shaky voice, I started to sing. I croaked out the words of a song I could not remember for the life me, but as the words fell out of tune from my chapped lips, I could taste the moment I first sang this to her, dancing at the tip of my tongue. A small, peaceful smile danced across her lips as she closed her eyes . My broken lyrics were the last things she heard before the line went flat.

I was never the romantic type

Never the one to call first

Never the one to say "sorry"

I was never the one to love

Never the one to be loved

Never the one to give

I was never the type to believe

Never the one to daydream

Never the one who holds on

But you, my dear, were always romantic

Always the one who calls first

Always the one to say "sorry"

You were always made for love

Always the one to be loved

Always the one who give

I never believed I would be here

Daydreaming of things I could never be

Despite all the things I never was

Know that I will always be

The one who will never leave you

The one who will always be here

It was pitch black outside. Under the refuge of the damp wooden planks, not a soul could hear them. The footsteps have been gone for about an hour now. At that moment, everything in their little world became still.

It was a small hole in the ground, with slashes of moonlight peeking through the gaps of the planks. The air inside was heavy with the fragrance of the earth and the smell of their breaths as they panted quietly beneath. All was still that night, and not a soul could be heard. If you focused hard enough, you would be able to hear the rush of your own blood, coursing through your veins. This, along with the tremendous fright he got before they went in there, was all too much for Uriel.

"Inday, let's play a game." Uriel muttered in the dark. His dark hair, matted with mud, clung to his soft, delicate face. His features spoke of a well-caring Mama and Papa who tried so hard not to let anything touch the sweet proportions that is him, and of careless days spent baking under the sun, so free and so young, just how a boy of thirteen ought to be. He was the poster boy of youth: wild, reckless, and free.

His sister was no such thing. With skin as brown and bumpy as a nut, and a face akin to that of a malnourished goat, she was everything you could describe as unsightly for a girl coming of age. But poor, ugly Inday wasn't just any girl. To Uriel, Inday meant the world, in all her poverty and homeliness.

"What game?" She whispered.

"A confession game. What else?" Uriel rolled his eyes, until he realized Inday couldn't even see his insult.

"Haven't we already played that?"

"Yes...but I want to play it again."

"But kuya, I have nothing to confess anymore." Inday whined.

"Yes, you do. Come on, this could be the last time we could ever-" The words caught on his throat.

"The last time we could ever play." Inday finished for her brother. Then, the air inside the little hole was once again fell into quiet. Little, ugly Inday always knew what to say. Even with no proper schooling, Inday was a smart little bug, always had an idea for everything. Oftentimes, Kuya Uriel felt like he should be the one addressing her with respect, not the other way around.

Neither of the siblings spoke for a while. The words sunk deep in their hearts. Suddenly, Uriel didn't feel like playing anymore.

"Go on...say something..." Inday finally broke the silence with a voice as shaken as she was. Suddenly, Kuya Uriel didn't feel like being a kuya anymore.

"I wish Mama and Papa are still okay." He whispered.

A few hours ago, while the blazing sun was still smiling above the mountain, Uriel remembered seeing his Mama doing Aling Jenny's laundry, just a few yards down from the hill where their humble nipa hut stood. He was chewing on the freshly picked bayabas that his sister handed to him before she sauntered off to elsewhere. At the back of the hut, he heard his father's shovel, hurriedly digging . Everything was right where it was supposed to be.

They lived under the covers of the forests, a place where nothing ever happens and no ever complains. It wasn't a place where you grab a beer or a nice lass - it wasn't like that at all. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone. It's a place you go to to find peace and tranquility. A place of refuge. A place that Uriel and Inday once called home.

Suddenly, home felt like a world away. Uriel longed for his Mama's cooking and his father's stories. Like the boy he was, Uriel thought that if he could just squeeze his eyes tight enough, he would be able to smell the earthy scent of the grass above them, feel the soft breeze of summer on his cheeks, and taste the tanginess of the bayabas Inday had picked from their backyard. Isn't it funny how time flies so fast in a place where nothing ever happens? One moment, Uriel was a boy of thirteen, the next, he was a man of thirty.

He heard his sister sniff from across the hole that their Papa made.

"Why are you crying, Inday?"

"Why are you not?"

"Why should I?"

"Can't you see?"

"What can I not see?"

"Listen."

And Uriel did. Beyond the covers of the wooden planks, not a soul could be heard. Not the footsteps of a curious neighbor, not a single crackle from a fire, not even the singing of the crickets. At that moment, everything was too still for Uriel to handle. Uriel felt like a lonely boy of thirteen again.

A few hours before supper, he remembered his Papa at the backyard. His Papa had called for him, and when Uriel appeared, his Papa whispered a secret.

"See that hole, son?" He said, pointing at the freshly dug hole behind a bush.

"Yes, papa."

"When they come, you know where to go, okay?" He patted Uriel's dark locks. "Be a big boy, Uriel." And with that, he went off to fetch himself some water.

While their family was enjoying their meager meal, they heard them. Their coming was always heralded by the sounds of screaming and gunfire, always, always the gunfire. Uriel had heard them before, back in town. He was with Papa then. It was supposed to be a normal day of picking up the fertilizer and heading home. But they had no such plans. The ruin they made of Mindanao is enough proof of that. Luckily, father and son escaped the town before it collapsed. Terrorists rarely have notions for politeness.

Their Mama put out the ligh in the oil lamp and closed the shutters. Their Papa went to the kitchen and grabbed his itak. The children sat by the low table, still chewing on the few scraps Mama had made for them. In a frenzy, their Mama grabbed both the children by the hands and led them out through the back door.

"Kuya, you take care of Inday for Mama, okay?" She whispered as she led them both to the backyard. There, she lifted three, large, wooden planks and carefully set down her children down the hole.

"Mama, there's still room for you here!" Inday said, patting the space next to her.

"No, no, dear. Mama, will no be going down there." She said, stifling the tears threatening to pour. She kissed each of her children in the forehead. "I love you." She placed the wooden planks back above the hole before covering it with a false bush.

That supper felt like a lifetime ago to the two siblings.

"Kuya, I want Mam-" Before Inday could even finish what she had to say, Uriel took her under his hands. The world beyond the wooden planks wasn't quiet anymore. Outside, Uriel heard the deep voices of men, their laughter piercing the quiet of the night. They were talking in strange tongues that neither of them understood, but both of them knew what the sounds meant.

They're here.

Where is Mama and Papa? Why didn't they come down with us? Why did they leave us? Why did they leave us? As much as Uriel wanted to scream out his queries, he knew it was too late, for he had heard the first shot. It was a sharp, shrill sound, so loud that it felt as if it were shot right beside his ear. Uriel felt hot tears rushing down his face as he tried to muffle Inday's protests.

Suddenly, he heard a man scream. It was loud, angry, and full of hatred. Then he heard a quick slash in the wind as his father's itak slit one of the men's throat. The scream didn't last long however, for a second shot was fired. Uriel did not need to see his Papa to know that he was dead. Under his hands, he felt Inday try to fight his iron hold. He tightened his grip and held back the violent rush from his eyes.

The men were laughing now. Uriel heard two, three men climbing up the bamboo stairs of their house. Not even a minute after, he heard a woman scream.

Mama!

He felt his grip getting tighter.

"PLEASE! NO! PLEASE!" Uriel heard his mother scream as one of the men ripped off her skirt. Uriel had to hold back his own screams as he listened to his mother's agony.

"STOP! PLEASE!" His Mama wailed and wailed but none of them listened. Big men with big guns rarely listen to farmer's wives, especially when they're too busy taking their dignity. Just when he thought that the screams would go on forever, his Mama was relieved of the pain. Uriel was very sure of that because her wailing stopped after the third bullet.

From under the hole, Uriel listened as the men descended the stairs and waited until their cold, cold laughter was out of earshot.

"Inday, it's okay now." He whispered as he slowly let go of his hold on Inday. Her head fell limp on his arms.

"Inday, please wake up now. The bad men are gone, see? The bad men are gone..."

That night, under the covers of the wooden planks, their little world felt all too quiet for Uriel.

===================================

Hey guys! So the story you've just read (assuming that you did read) is actually my assignment for my Creative Writing class. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Also, constructive criticism is always appreciated here. Thanks, guys! 

My eyes looked across

To the mirror on the wall

My eyes burned through mine

As though looking for a sign

And then I saw myself blink.