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PostPosted: Fri Feb 15, '13, 12:33 am
I have written this story six months ago, and since then I have not been able to write anything else. As I don't have anything to do with the story, I'll make it available here, so a few people may enjoy it (I hope).


Haven’t you ever felt like something supernatural was happening to you? Some eerie feeling, as if the events unfolding before your eyes were not real, but part of a dream? Or maybe something weighing down your heart, as if you were to collapse at any moment, dead? I don’t believe in supernatural or mystical things, but that day something impossible to explain happened to me.


As usual, my greatest demons were a recurring theme of my dreams, and that night it was not any different. I didn’t remember clearly what I dreamed about, but when I woke up, those images that tortured my mind came back full force. “Brother… Brother…” Although it was very early for a Sunday, I was so restless that I could not stay a minute longer lying on my bed. I tried to dispel the horrific images with a cold shower. It didn’t work. The ominous clouds in Peruvian skies foreshadowing tragedy; the mysteries of the Amazon rainforest where one could walk for a few hundred yards and then never be able to return to your starting point…

The sky was clear outside, but the so hated memories had already ruined what could have been a pleasant time spent with my beloved one and my dear children. Crimson colors of hell: blood splattered on the floor, fires, entrails… my stomach was so churned that I skipped breakfast. Yet, I managed to prepare the buttered toasts for my dear wife and kids. I wanted those terrible things to die with me, and until that day I had managed to conceal them so effectively that despite a few quirks in my personality that my wife learned to live with, nothing about the horrific events of the past ever got past my internal barrier.

I sat on the chair for a moment, and realized that a strange fog invaded the kitchen. In a matter of seconds, I could not discern the patterns of the wall tiles or the clean colors of the appliances. Strangely, the mist made it look like I was inside a small and rustic kitchen. I saw myself seated by a rough wood table, hearing the chirping of exotic birds, smelling the pleasant aroma of fresh corn bread, and watching the crimson locks flowing as the lady in the flowery dress danced and smiled at me...

The pressure inside my chest was unbearable, and I got myself thinking whether should seek professional help or not. They say it would help me considerably if I dealt with the ghosts of my past. However, the prospects of reliving that experience over and over was far from encouraging. All in all, it would not bring back what I have lost, it would not change anything. I had not been brave enough to do what I should have done, but if I was such a weakling that could not live with the outcome of my cowardice, then I was not worthy of living. That was the point, I was not worthy of living, yet I had come back, married, fathered children... Then I had to stand for my choice.

I stood up and left the kitchen. There was no fog at all, it must have been the clouds in my wet eyes. I desperately needed a fix, something that would free me from that cycle of painful memories and anxiety. So I went straight to the living room and, after abandoning my body over the couch like a hay bale thrown from a cart, I turned on the TV set.

There was nothing good to watch on a Sunday morning, but I was not looking for quality entertainment, just something to steal my attention. I flipped through the channels and the quality of the shows ranged from bad to terrible. Finally, I opted for a channel that was airing educational programs. Nothing like tools and techniques about how to make a screw to bring me back some peace of mind!

I must have stayed watching those TV shows for hours. Somehow, my mind was unable to retain the notion of time. I had the feeling that it all passed in a short moment, as a strange dream, where weird things that I could not comprehend were being aired in fast-forward, until it returned to normal during an anatomy class. Much to my dismay, they were talking about organs with the images of a vivisected living person. From an opening in her chest, it was possible to see her heart beating. I felt dizzy and was about to faint. "Brother... Brother..." It was the same feeling back again. I could even smell the blood, mixed with gunpowder and the tropical forest scent. Then I heard a voice behind me.

"Good morning, dear!" Before I could recover, I felt the soft lips of my wife touching my cheek.

"Good morning..." I answered mechanically, fighting an urge to throw up. The oppressing feeling inside my chest was stronger than ever, and I thought I would drop dead at any instant.

"What are you watching, dear?"

I froze in shock. What would I say? What should I say? It would be impossible to conceal my distress. I didn't want to turn my eyes to that screen again. I was not strong enough to take another blow direct to the most sensitive spot of my sick mind.

"Donald Duck?" My wife added with a brief laugh.

Feeling desperate, I turned my eyes back to the TV screen and there was Donald Duck, starring an old washy Technicolor cartoon. I don't know how that had happened, for a few seconds ago the screen was filled with that filthy and gruesome image. "Brother... Brother..." The faint voice filled my ears, but was soon replaced by the frantic orchestral tune so characteristic from old cartoons during action scenes.

My wife went to the kitchen and said something about the breakfast, but my mind was completely focused on trying to understand what had happened. If it was not byproduct of a mind going insane, which would be an easy but unfulfilling explanation, I needed to come up with a logical reason for what had just happened. For the sake of my own peace of mind. Because I never believed in supernatural things. I'm rather skeptical, and proud for not believing in absurdities like ghosts or horoscope. Everything must have a logical explanation and that weird event was no exception. Maybe I have changed the channel without noticing. Yet, it seemed unlikely, as I had left the remote over the side table. Could it be that I dozed off while watching TV and dreamed about the anatomy class? There was no reason to believe such a horrible thing would be aired on TV. It had to be that.

I was feeling much calmer then, and I stayed watching the cartoon. However, it had to be a very unlucky coincidence. If I believed in the Providence, I would surely say it was playing a prank on me. The episode had Donald Duck being captured by a band of natives and taken to be sacrificed inside a temple. The native shaman had just raised a ceremonial dagger while the duck screamed and cursed in its characteristic way, backed by frantic orchestral backdrop. It was too much for me, so I rushed to the remote and turned off the TV set, foolishly hoping that it would turn off all the images that were disturbing me that morning.
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