The piece of paper trembled in Allan’s hands. His feet froze and a heavy gloom descended, making him feel small as the surroundings seemed to close in on him.
The man begins his perilous journey in a shrine that glorifies beauty, yet dwells ugly tyranny. Amongst scenes that symbolise love, dwells merely a delusion of it. In a place of such irony must the man look for that which is lost.’
‘This has got to be a joke,’ Allan said through gritted teeth, ‘Damn fool with his fancy words.’
He crumpled the paper and hurled it at the wall in front of him, seething with rage at his step son’s nerve.
‘Don’t think you can win me with your stories, boy!’ he yelled, his harsh tone echoing through the empty halls, ‘It won’t save you from my belt.’
Silence.
A gust of breeze rushed into the house and gently rolled the crumpled piece of paper further along the floor.
‘If this is a game to miss your lessons, you’re a fool! You’re a fool, Brian!’
Silence.
Allan tightened his fist. He glared at the crumpled piece of paper on the floor when a flash of impending consequences rushed through his mind.
He had to find the ruddy boy. He wasn’t going to prison for neglecting the wordy fool. He picked up the crumpled ball of paper and straightened it out to read the words again.
His eyes rested on the word ‘Beauty’. The very sight of its syllables felt like a joke in the midst of the dilapidated interiors. And yet, irony proved to be the answer for in the whole house of ruin, there was one place that hadn’t seen the wasteful effects of Allan’s ownership: The library.
Allan tore the piece of paper into two and tossed them behind him before making his way towards the library.
The walls of the library were adorned with paintings, ‘glorifying beauty’ with the works of Monet, ‘symbolising love’ through the eyes of Botticelli. A tiny ray of unknown emotion crept up inside Allan as he scanned the interiors for a familiar face.
Ugly Tyranny.
The table was stained with ink, a book lay flat on its pages at a corner on the floor.
Allan’s mind went back to the previous night.
‘How many times do I have to tell you it’s wrong!’
Allan’s hands tingled as the memory of him cracking the ink bottle resurfaced. Watched in terror by Brian’s dark eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ the boy had whimpered, ‘please don’t hurt me.’
‘You’re a fool!’
The book had hit Brian square in the face. Its edge had left quite a gash.
‘Please don’t hurt me.’
Allan gasped. He shook himself up from the flashback and scrambled back against a shelf, only to lay eyes on a piece of paper, half soaked in the drying ink that spread across the table.
‘Playing with my mind, eh?’ Allan hissed. He neared the piece of paper and snatched it off the table with trembling hands, ‘You deserved every bit of it.’
The man fails his first task but fate is forgiving. The man must enter the lost one’s abode: A place of comfort marred by violent tidings. A place of solace marred by screams of taunt. Here he must look for the one that is lost.
Allan couldn’t help but be impressed yet enraged by the words that glared him in the eye. The distant ticking of the clock set his nerves on the edge. Brian had remained missing for half the day.
‘That book didn’t stir up your senses, boy?’ Allan scoffed, glancing at the book on the floor, ‘Come on out, enough of the games.’
Silence. Save for the distant ticking of the clock that grew mysteriously menacing.
The lost one’s abode.
Allan swiftly made his way into Brian’s room, barging through the door and dropping the name plate that hung on it.
In all his fury, Allan saw a third slip of paper, stuck to a wall, stained with lash-like markings.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
‘I want to go to actual school,’ Brian’s trembling voice echoed in Allen’s mind almost as if it was happening in front of him.
‘You expect me to pay for that?’
‘Allan, please. I can’t stay home forever.’
‘You stay home for as long as I tell you.’
‘Don’t hurt me. I was only asking.’
The sound of the belt cracking resurfaced in Allen’s auditory memory. He grabbed the piece of paper in a maniacal mood.
Our man grew tired. Faced with failure twice, he raged like the storm. All that was left now was the final ascent. The climb to….
‘The climb to what?’
Allen crumpled the paper yet again. His endeavour felt like a fool’s errand.
‘I’m calling the cops. I have no time for this fool’s stories.’
A second glance at the wall marred by lashes from the belt made Allan retract the thought.
He wasn’t going to prison for neglecting the wordy fool.
Allan stood up in a mood, dangerously fused with anger, helplessness and a lingering sense of doom. He trudged towards the staircase, leading to the balcony, right at the top of the eight-storied house.
All that was left now was the final ascent.
Allen’s head stormed as he traversed the breezy stairwell. To think he took such a steep climb to find the boy that was his burden to bear. The boy who called him a tyrant when all he was doing was making a man out of a weakling. The boy who seemed hell bent to guilt trip him into submission. The boy who….
Allen’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt as he set foot onto the stoned floor of the balcony. The chilly air smote his skin and in its waves fluttered a fourth piece of paper. Taped to the railing.
Allen took a step up and climbed onto the pavement bounding the railing. His breath vapoured as he pulled off the paper. He muttered curses as he unfolded the paper only to see two words printed in bold.
Before he could fathom their meaning, a strong shove from behind made Allen catch his breath and the sound of his screaming on the path of descent faded into an echo, mingling with the whistling breeze.
The paper lay where Allen once stood.
“THE END”
The words glared before the breeze send the paper flying somewhere along its vast course.
By: Samiksha Deshpande
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