That day was unusual from the start, when the empyrean has gone bleak and mad. The botany is alive and dancing to the rhythm of the crashing rain. My mother and father is as livid as they’ve ever been, contrast to the weather and climate. “Why are we supposed to go out and play if it’s raining, papa?” I asked my father, a carefree child who knew nothing about murder and crime. “The ghosts will hunt us down -” my mama came hurling through the door. Her expression isn’t like that of a triumphant man bringing home the trophy - it is rather troubled and is seeking for fidelity.
“She’s here. The Madwoman.” I looked up to my papa. “Who is the Madwoman, papa?” I questioned him once, and never again. For someone in a mask has gone shooting bullets through my papa’s flesh. Mama sunk in terror, she scooted closer to me in a crippled way. As if one leg has fallen out, as if she was unable to walk. An obviously altered voice spoke. “You have exchanged my child. The one I got that day is not my child, it’s her!” me, being always terrified with shouting and fights, wept on my mother’s shoulder. Especially now that the volume of her voice was beyond
vociferous, accompanied by the thunder. “What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything like what you said!” in a shaky voice, my mama claimed that she had done nothing wrong
Oh yes, she had done nothing wrong - but was killed.
There wasn’t any trace of memory after that incident.
And like that day, this term is a rainy one.
I took a seat on one of the available ones at the classroom.
I have only noticed it today, that my seatmate and best friend, Irene - looked like the Madwoman. The one who slaughtered my parents.