© 2017, Lucus Ren
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Not sure whether your grandfather inducing 60 proof ´white alcohol´ with little reaction had influence, but you walked out. In less than a week disguised as business functions, you visited twelve separate drinking sessions, slept a total of twenty-two hours, and made 8.2 million dollars for The Visitor. The return trip brought another, quivering thought clearer; maybe it was someone before your grandfather. Relatives’ former collected perhaps. The side of one parent was lost in China. In Montreal, the other was best seen through lowered eyes, and very dark glasses. Always the same, wanting to understand some of the items on your list, meant forgetting it entirely.
You remember three weeks ago an inspector asking your alibi. You had too much freedom. Your lethargic brain had no idea the course taken your skin. Since your father often told you she’d forgotten more than you’d ever know, you hoped she’d appear, testing such a fact. But when the doors closed she wasn’t on that side. Father mentioned, when she locked that door, so to be their love. Bullets passed through, one catching your fathers´ right arm just above the elbow nearly tearing it in half. They broke the door. He saw your mothers´ blood flowing under, their hands hunting for him. He spoke only twice of that afternoon. You knew the better half of yours would never meet. They had papers, screaming without sound, took him back through that door. He said part of her head was missing, the left hand bent backwards, broken. A wave to him; her mutated sign of goodbye.
You don’t remember much of their questions. They said you had reason to kill. With no claim they released you. You phoned. Went to a business function. A month ago you met The Visitor. Talked. A roll of paper was exchanged. You parted. Took a cab. At your apartment read a report. Slept for two hours. Another cab. Then plain. Landed in Nanjing, Mainland China. Telephoned from the airport. And waited for the screaming chicken.
You were six. Your father said he did not want another woman and did not care what children said because you hadn’t a mother. They haven’t a brain between them he said. You started crying, he hit you with the wood spoon. You saw The Visitor that morning siting with your father, whispering in your chair, at the table, with your school books on that table, and your two pants and three shirts, and two socks, one sweater, and woolen cap you’d wear most of the time on the way to school and for most of the day in the school as the school hadn’t any heating, because it was poor, and filled with other children like you, Watching your father and the Visitor there grew a whisper in your thought. ‘If you go with this person maybe you’d find her.’
For its purpose you were normal. Except your bizarre way of understanding things. Taken for granted the world, you sought ways within it where there weren’t clear ones. You created maps, better understanding why people exchange themselves for a more fitted, valuable optimum performance of dismissing their existence. Terms of your essence came while passing over the river on the way to school a women threw a child, then herself from the bridge into blacken freezing water. Your mother must have done the same. How else would you have survived with a one-arm father? Locking him in a closet she threw you from the window and bid her twisting farewell.
Less than an hour you were collected. Your bag was escorted by a bent, small ancient woman on a cart. She came to the height of your waist, and slowly passed among your first sight of life. No thought had taken place when shuffling through thousands of life’s greatest and worst achievements. The massive terminal was void of floor space. People, children, luggage covered it as if humanities sky opened and its dense rain poured. You were never so happy as then remembering what a still mind may hold in its noise.
The departing glass doors opened, breathed another air. Leaving its expanses you turned seeing all eyes watching you, with apathy. Another step and the doors closed, heads resumed their motions with persisted life. You stood waiting for understanding, your hand was taken and lead to a waiting black sedan. Your mind returning, its chaos intact with the remaining parts of your body hesitantly following into the car.
Indeed there was evidence against you they hadn’t seen. It was removed partially through natural causes, of what remained was replaced after the murder as to not affect others. Its effect positive and he died within an hour from internal bleeding, his intestines simply melted, leaking out his ass. Knowing his past butchery investigators were more interested in the functioning of the crime, then of those conducting it.
So heavily guarded, foods constantly controlled, yet concluded through medical exam he induced an agent causing internal ruptures of his stomach and intestinal tract. Witness stated he always sat at the same table and only once went to the lavatories after the meal just before leaving the famous restaurant specialized in the culinary arts of chicken cuisine. No witness reported seeing you either, although you were clearly there and viewed by many. You even entered the front door and left the same, but the doorman stated soundly he´d seen no one for an hour prior to the victim’s arrival, which was the security custom for such a person.
A person responsible for the brutal treatment, disappearance and murder of thousands, who ordered the arrest of your father, subsequent killing of your mother, and started this event ending his own life twenty-three years later by using the roll of toilet paper you were given from your Visiting grandfather.
- End -
Your bag was escorted by a bent, small ancient woman on a cart. She came to the height of your waist, and slowly passed among your first sight of life. No thought had taken place when shuffling through thousands of life’s greatest and worst achievements. The massive terminal was void of floor space. People, children, luggage covered it as if humanities sky opened and its dense rain poured. You were never so happy as then remembering what a still mind may hold in its noise. Not sure whether your grandfather inducing 60 proof ´white alcohol´ with little reaction had influence, but you walked out.