Insight by Danya Elmalik (mobi reader .txt) 📕

I am trying to breathe so hard. But I can’t. It’s almost like I’ve never wanted anything more in my short lifetime. All I can think now is how all I want to do is take one last breath before my end. ‘Get out of here this instant you piece of crap!’ Neil screams while banging heavily on the closet door. It’s so dark. That’s what I’m afraid of. Being alone. Dying alone. I’m not overthinking the situation. But one way or another, don’t we all? ‘I’m giving you five seconds, mister!’ And I’m not cooperating. If I walk out that door it’s game over. If I don’t, it might buy me some dying wishes. Like breathing. But I might be able to fool him. I know Neil’s at his dumbest and I’ve got all the tools for the process. At least I’ll be able to cope until morning. I tie the string and rope to the door handle cautiously so I don’t accidentally open it. ‘What’re you doing, boy? Think you can escape me? You never will,’ he challenges. I ignore his jibe. Then I circulate the items around a heavy repair briefcase neglected on the ancient cobwebbed shelf. ‘The keys are in your left jacket, Dad,’ I state clearly. I know he hates it when I say that. I know he never wanted to be my father. I realise I’ve finally found something we both agree on. ‘You don’t ever help someone with bad intentions, Tommy. That’s what lets me know you’ll never be a man, right?’ I hear a few sounds of unlocking and keep dead silent hopeful for an up-side. I can hear dimwitted snickers and a quiet creak. ‘Stupid kid,’ Neil chuckles. The door opens which can only mean one thing. It’s show time. He keeps laughing and doesn’t notice the repair kit slipping off the ledge, me hiding behind the door. How concrete-minded could he get? He slams it half-open and it jerks off quickly knocking him out. After he collapses, I walk over gently and check if he’s alive, though that’s the last thing I want. I hear a strange murmur but I shake my head and attempt to leap over his unconscious body. Just when I expect all my problems to be solved, a coarse hand seizes my ankle. Fortunately, I black out, not remembering at all what happened. Neither did Neil. I wake up in the morning, my face and stomach appallingly sore, my head spinning with a terrible migraine. I find the will to get up although school is the least of my worries. My hopes rise slowly. Then I collapse. Neil storms in with a laundry basket. Some of the clothes are drenched in blood. He shrugs and I know at once he meant to hide that.’ Why is everything about you so weird, Tommy?’ he says and rushes to my aid. That’s another psychotic thing about Neil. Manic even. You never whether or not to be furious with him all the time. You wouldn’t know which personality he’s in until you show it. Which is why I don’t. ‘Thank you, Neil,’ I say. I know he hates being called ‘Dad’ in his bad mood, but even if he isn’t, I’m not taking any chances. ‘Why would you call me by my first name, Tommy? It’s very rude and a lot of adults don’t put up with it. It wouldn’t hurt to call me Dad, you know,’ he replies. ‘I don’t bite.’ But you could kill. I’m not sure if I should trust this ‘new Neil’ even though he practically ordered me to recite what title I should refer to him as. ‘Sorry, Nei-Dad. It won’t happen again.’

‘Good. I’m counting on it. Now, get ready for school.’ School? School! How could I have forgotten school? How could I have forgotten to set the alarm? Then I remember. I hadn’t forgotten. ‘You won’t need school with the future you’re going to have. No worries. You won’t be alive.’ ‘It’s funny, I remember something about that. No worries,’ he says. ‘Probably just another mid-life (crisis) trauma (thing).’

‘If that’s the case, I’d expect another shrink,’ I say. ‘Perhaps. Anyways, shouldn’t you be preparing yourself?’ ‘Of course, Neil.’ The horror of my own words and the shock of his expression struck me simultaneously. He stretches out his hand whilst I (attempt) to dodge it as best I can. ‘Please don’t hurt me, Dad! I’m the worst creation of God! Please don’t kill me! I’m worthless and I’ll do anything you ask! I’ll make use of this piece of crap for you!’ I wince (trying my best to adapt well to the situation). Then he pats my head and ruffles my hair laughing gently. ‘Hurt you? Kill you? Worthless piece of crap? Well, I think not,’ he says. ‘Where you been getting these queer ideas, son?’ I’m confused but I try to sound as reasonable as possible. ‘So you do think so?’ My heart throbs. I wouldn’t want his temper (+tantrum) to go off now.

‘Not at all, son. I mean you’re getting pretty weird so suddenly. I just want to know if I did anything or if Bill-‘

‘No, Dad. You didn’t do anything and neither did Bill!’ I exclaim. Bill had skipped Plumose Cottage early on scholarship. But he’d been visiting his brother often lately. Something about him sounds fishy. ‘I know this is going to be hard to believe,’ I add, ‘but I was trying to create a unique tomato sauce recipe and it went awry.’

‘Hmm.’ I can’t read his (blank expression) face.

‘Are you saying you don’t believe me Neil?’

‘No, it’s just…’ He gives me a strange frown. I think about it for a second and then realize I’d slipped again. ‘I’m real sorry, Dad. I hope you can forgive me.’

‘Really,’ he says.

‘Of course, Dad. You can’t doubt an honest apology.’

‘No, I mean you’re supposed to say you’re really sorry not… Oh, never mind,’ he says, managing to puzzle me again. ‘Here’s a thought (I’ve got this random idea).’

‘Alright, what is it?’ I ask (politely).

‘So basically, I asked you to call me Dad, right?’

I nod anxiously.

‘But you keep accidentally calling me Neil.’

I nod more reluctantly.

‘What if you call me Dad when you remember to and call me Neil when you don’t?’

‘Isn’t that what I do either way?’

‘Yes, but I’m permitting you to, now.’

I take a moment to consider the idea. ‘I find it quite splendid.’

‘Excellent! Then it’s a done deal.’ And it is. We shake on it too.

‘Now, about school…’

‘I’ll be right on it, Neil.’ I stagger into the bathroom. There’s a great disfigured stitch scarred across my upper thigh. Probably an aftermath of the other night, I think. I get all my business done in five. I can’t remember the last time I was enthusiastic about school. I guess it’s an emotion for the best. I rush over wardrobe choices remembering that I’m not keen on style. Soon enough, I am clad in an old striped blouse, baggy khakis, and a blue ball cap to hide my water-smoothened hair, chewing on a lemon-flavored power bar, drinking half a glass of water. Neil looks at me warily as he’s having two glasses of orange juice and an exaggeration of rice and bean quantities. It’s quite humorous as we’re both match-stick slim. I finish quickly, washing my hands and doing the dishes. ‘Are you sure you’re not having anything else?’ Neil asks. ‘You need all the energy you can get. That school must be stressful. I know mine was when I was your age-‘

‘It’s okay, Neil. I’d like to keep healthy.’ I wanted to avoid the anecdote at any cost.

‘So what, are you saying I’m not?’

‘No! That’s not what I meant! I’m not-‘

‘No, no, it’s fine. I know what you meant,’ he replies. I’m positively certain he still has the wrong impression. ‘Now, get going, Tommy. Before you’re late for the test.’

I could have added, ‘The one I took yesterday.’ I didn’t want to rush the conflagration. That particular process is one to be delayed. ‘Yes, sir,’ I answered as I dashed across the porch and front yard. I unlocked my bike wheels; it’s a large one with black tints and fiery sparks. On my way, it feels like an ideal fantasy, like I’m leaving home for good. Most days, it’s the greatest emotion in the world, just not this day. I’m betting the new Neil had something to do with that. The resistance pushing against my body traps me into this aroma, possibly adrenaline. But you can’t be in a rush without a destination.

Publication Date: 11-30-2013

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