It all happened a week ago. My mom got re-married to this total looser, but that's besides the point. Anyway, they received thousands of wedding gifts, among which was a very peculiar one.
I was sitting in my room, just waiting for time to go by, when I looked up and this little silver object ran passed my door.
I quickly jumped off my bed, ran down the stairs and into the kitchen.
There on the counter was a little silver cheetah. That was the cheetah from one of the bowls they received as a wedding gift!
Somehow this cheetah had detached itself from the bowl and come to life. Oh no, I had to sneeze. HaCHOO! The cheetah got such a fright and quickly rejoined itself together with the bowl.
This can't be real I thought to myself, so I walked over to the bowl and had a good look at it. As I moved my interested eyes closer to the cheetah, it took a nip at my nose and ran for it.
I chased after the cheetah around the house, and as my mom walked in the front door, I bashed, full-speed, into her.
"Aly, watch out! You're going to hurt yourself."
I explained about this absurd wedding gift ... the cheetah being alive ... taking a nip at my nose.
"Aly," my mom replied skeptically, "are you alright? I think we need to take you to the doctor."
"Mom, I'm fine, if you don't believe me, come see for yourself."
As we walked into the kitchen, she walked ahead, gazing back at me.
"Aly, there' nothing wrong with this bowl!"
"But it is real," I insisted.
"Just stop it now and get us some ice-cream."
As I put the tub of ice-cream back into the freezer, I caught a glimpse of the cheetah eating ice-cream on the kitchen counter.
Mary looked up at the restaurant's name. It was another one written in a foreign language. Probably French Mary thought.
As she pushed the door open, she caught a glance of her reflection in the tinted glass. An old woman looked back at her, her hair prematurely white and signs of a hard life etched on her face.
Mary signed and went in.
When the food arrived, it was exquisitely prepared and presented, obviously at the hand of a professional.
Mary took a bite of a round pink thing with a strawberry on top, and the recognition of the taste slammed her back into her past.
She was sitting there, in her kitchen, with Michael. He was cooking up the most wonderful food with a glint of humour in his blue eyes.
After the bomb hit they had run out into the street where a horde of people separated them. Mary had panicked and fought to get to him but his little figure was lost.
She had searched for him afterwards, but many more bombs had struck that day and she was forced to assume he was dead.
But here, now, was the taste; the taste she had only ever experienced by the hand of her son. Her eyes shone with hope. Was it possible that Michael was alive? Could she have been wrong to assume his death?
With mounting trepidation and excitement, she rushed passed the waiters and pushed open the doors of the kitchen.
And there, standing before her eyes, after 20 years of separation, wearing his white apron, his deep blue eyes untroubled, was Michael.
"Cuuuut," droned the director. "No, no no! It looks like we took a picture and stuck it over the girl! It looks horrible."
"Um, sir, that is what we did," I murmured.
"I know that, but the audience mustn't," screamed the director. "Fix it Zoe. Fix it NOW!"
"Yes sir," I signed. The junior who had made this mess had been fired, leaving me in a stuffy computer room.
As I sat down, I pried off my high heels and tied my curly blonde hair up.
A few painful hours later, I clicked the mouse for the last time. "The movie is alive," the director used to say.
How right he was!
It happened in slow motion, and yet I could not move. The wrinkled hide came through the screen, shattering it into hundreds of shiny pieces.
That jolted me awake! I sprang into action, diving for the computer mouse to click 'undo'. I cringed. It was ripped out. I reached for my 'emergency' mouse, blushing at what a nerd I was.
Rather ironically, the 'leg' noticed the mouse and landed on the computer. My blood froze as I realised I was next.
Up went the leg ...
Up went my heart-rate ...
The leather came hurtling towards me. "Nooooo!" I screamed at its toe nails pierced my skin.
"And ... CUT. Wow, that was amazing," the director said, admiring the special effects.
I got up, a welcomed feeling to be back in the real world.
"A great piece of acting," the director said. "It was totally believable!"
The sky was perfectly clear that night, its' stars glowing like Christmas lights. The white gleam of the full moon brightened up the grounds of Creekshank Cemetery, as ironic as that seemed.
Sam Burwell wandered the moolit grounds that night, his expression sunken and his posture weakened by misery.
Miserable Sam. That's what they called him.
But Sam carried on, clumsily edging his way between the marble gravestones and occasionally spitting on them. Afterall, he thought grimly, who cared about the dead?
Hurriedly, he made his way towards a small tree with vivid red flowers. Then he heard it.
Rumble, rumble, rumble! It was a rather peculiar sound. Sam reluctantly looked down at his stomach. But then suddenly ...
WHAM! CRASH! He was blown off his feet by an unknown force. The ground shook underneath his frail body, and he realised what had made the rumbling noise. As if things couldn't get any worse, something started pushing up beneath him.
Startled, he twisted away and gazed around him. It was madness. Gravestones were being heaved up from the soil as decomposed figures appeared beneath them.
A strange feeling surged through Sam - a sort of mixture of nausea, horror and, strangely enough, regret.
"AAAAARGH!!!" Something hard and rough grabbed his hand.
Sam slowly turned to see the horrid, rotten, decomposed hand that had grabbed his. It started pulling. Defenseless by fear, Sam was dragged roughly underground by the corpse.
Suddenly, he felt himself being pushed into a coffin. For a moment, he gazed past the corpse and into a gleaming light. If was his life flashing before his eyes. Vaguely, through thousands of memories, he noticed a word that he had once seen in a book.
Karma.
Now he knew what it meant.
The dark coffin lid closed, and Sam Burwell shut his eyes.
This is it - Chase thought to himself, his hands trembling at his side. From the old railway bridge, the rocky ground far below him may have looked treacherous to many. To Chase, it looked almost inviting.
It would be simple: a quick, painless death. A solid impact with the hard earth below would kill him instantly.
Chase brushed his fingers through his chocolate hair. His emerald green eyes sparkled in the sunlight.
He was alone.
Chase had prepared himself for this day long in advance. So far, everything had gone as planned. He had written his mother a letter and recorded his father a voice message, both explaining why he had left. He couldn't stand the thought of having to tell either of them personally. After all, their divorce was his fault.
Then there was Em, the love of his life. Em was Chase's first and last serious girlfriend at seventeen. The two were inseparable. That was, however, until she dumped him.
It had all ended so quickly; nothing but a simple text message: "It's over. I'm sorry. Em."
What had hurt the most was her reason for dumping him or, in this case, the lack of a reason.
Chase had tried contacting her for days, yet Em hadn't responded to any of his text messages or answered any of his calls.
She was no longer part of his life.
The fact that Chase was failing at school didn't make his circumstances any easier. His parents had both been so successful at school, both were top of their class. Why couldn't he do the same?
They had always looked so disappointed when his report card arrived after each term. It wasn't that Chase didn't study or put any effort into his work. The fact was he had trouble processing it all. "Dyslexia", the doctor had called it.
It wasn't like any of that mattered now, though. Nothing and nobody could change his mind now.
It was the sound of the wind rustling the dry Autumn leaves that brought Chase back to his final moment. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of light - the sun saying its last goodbye, reflecting off a small piece of broken glass.
"Justin, wake up!" I frantically whispered to my brother as I shook him awake. "Get your stuff and let's go." Justin knew exactly what I meant. It was time to escape.
Ever so quietly we pushed the car out of the driveway and into the street. As we were getting into the car we looked up at once. One last silent goodbye. The living room light came on and our sense of urgency flared up inside us. Looking in the rearview mirror I saw our father standing in the middle of the street shaking his fists and cursing. A giant smile spread across my face. "Success!"
It was the middle of Friday night and the two of us were finally free. We drove around for nearly two hours. Why did mother have to die? Why did father have to turn to drink and keep us locked up and secluded? My brain tried to get as far as possible from him.
Justin started laughing. "Jessica, where are you going?"
My heart sank. I had never really thought about it. All I knew was that I had money and Justin and I had got away from him.
"Don't worry Justin. Everything is going to be okay. It's just you and me now." I tried saying it with as much conviction as I could muster but the adrenaline had worn off and, somewhere inside me, I just had this ominous feeling.
The car lights were on bright since there were no street lamps burning, not even the moon to light our way. We came to a T-junction. Left to Avontuur and right to Knysna. Unthinking, I stopped, my heart pounding. Which way to turn?
Every nerve in my body screamed. I wanted to scream. Justin beat me to it.
A sinister figure dressed in black walked towards us.
