Sarah Khan
A1S1
MEMOIRS
OF A SOLDIER
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I am home, finally. Yet, it does not feel
like a home to me anymore. I wish I can say that this day is a beautiful and
sunny one, but it is not. It is a bleak and dismal day and it looks like it
might just rain. Hell, we could even have a cyclone for all I know. It’s been
more than three years since I left, but so much has changed already. I do not
even recognize this place anymore. The funny thing is that the landscape and
the house look exactly the same as they did when I left. The changes that have
taken place are purely in my mind.
The house, so hauntingly beautiful, seems
unknown to me. It takes a couple of minutes for me to register the fact that
this is my house, the house where I have lived almost all my life. It is
crumbling and is in dire need of renovation, yet I cannot afford to have even a
paint job done. My house is like a lone wolf in a long lost forest. There is no
one to take care of either of us anymore. What I know for sure is that we both
still have a considerable amount of strength left and that we both prefer our
solitude.
What can I say about this house, my house?
It is just one of those standard brick houses. Some would say it could be
easily mistaken for an army barrack, but I shall highly disagree. This house is
still sacred, safe from all the gunfire and blood. Well, there’s no point in
bringing back old memories. Thankfully they are still locked up tight in my
mind. They say that you have to face the demons of your past at some point in
your life but I would rather die than open up that part of myself again.
At this moment, I realize that I have been
standing outside in this chilly weather for nearly fifteen minutes. I
hesitantly start walking towards the house. A couple of times I almost stop due
to the overwhelming feel of familiarity. I do not want this comfort, I just
don’t. When I turn the door knob I realize that the door is already unlocked.
This fails to surprise me as it is useless locking this old place up. No one
comes around here anymore. I open the door and step into the house.
The inside of the house is as inviting as
the outside. It is not entirely dark in here thanks to the enormous glass
windows that are present in the main hallway. The room is, to describe it in a
single word, bare. Old wooden floorboards creak and the house almost seems to
be alive with all the odd sounds. Also, the only beauty of this room comes from
the enormous stained crystal chandelier that is hanging from the roof. I can
only wonder whether a stranger standing in my place, can tell of all the
glorious days this place had seen.
Suddenly, the silence of my surroundings
is intruded upon. It is, dare I say, an exciting musical sound and I am
extremely startled. The sound is almost magical and I feel my feet itching,
tempting me to move. I run towards the sound and dare to hope for something I
hoped I had forgotten. Soon I realize it is coming from the piano room. My
favorite room was the piano room when I was just a young boy. The piano room
was made at the back of the staircase and it seemed like a hidden room which was
probably why it was my preferred room as a child. I always did fancy mysterious
things.
I burst into the piano room and realize
it looks exactly the same as when I had last seen it. It takes a few moments
for me to acknowledge that there is another being in the room. A child is
standing in front of the grand piano and softly pressing its keys. The melody
although unknown to me reminds me of the tune of a sad song I once heard. The
child is beautiful. She is like a snow angel, the one you would want to put on
top of your Christmas tree not just because she is ravishing but because there
is something enticing about her. She has dark hair and eyes, yet those features
do not feel cold at all when she looks up at me. Her lips curve into a smile as
says, “Hello, daddy.”
I look at her. She seems to share my
features. Could this be true? I don’t think so. It is not possible. I have no
one, absolutely no one left in this world. Then how is it possible? I look up
at the skylight. It is so beautiful, so many colors; I almost forget where I
am. It has started raining, but that seems very typical. I wonder whether I
have fallen into a storybook. I have gone back in time, reminiscing is not
something I do at all. The sweet melody of the patter of rain drops on
the roof is very soothing; yet, at the same time, it ignites my demons of the
past. I snap out of it, the nostalgia is very disturbing. I look back at the
piano but the child is gone. I wonder whether I’m hallucinating and start to
worry. Laughter, I hear laughter. It seems as if more than one being is
occupying the house at the time. I run out of the room and find myself standing
in an empty hall. The ringing of laughter starts again. It is as if there is a
monster in my house, running around, mocking me. I doubt that’s what it is. A
monster’s laughter cannot sound like a child’s laughter. My child’s laughter,
could it be possible? Should I follow? Should I feel again? Has it been too
long, this isolation? So many questions in my mind and I cannot answer any of
them.
Against my better judgment, I walk
towards the staircase. The hardwood stairs are so old and so elegant. Memories
force their way into my mind. I remember my mother. I remember her telling me
not to run on the stairs. She was not worried about us tripping and injuring
ourselves. She was worried about me scuffing the stairs. Cruel woman, she truly
was. In my whole life, I only loved one woman. Jemima, they used to call her.
She was the only kindred soul who showed me kindness in those times of despair,
in those times when I had lost hope in myself. I wondered where she was now.
She could be anywhere. She was a traveler, my beloved Jemima. In fact that was
the reason we had met. It wasn't love at first sight, it couldn't have been.
She was so different then, so dark and upset all the time. But, as if it was a
miracle, she had transformed and with that transformation she had also captured
my heart. I look up at the landing on the upper floor and catch a glimpse of
someone running away. I shake my head, maybe I am truly hallucinating. But
wait; there it is again, the obvious sound of someone running on hardwood
floors.
I run upstairs to only catch another
glimpse of colors, very vivid colors. Jemima loved bright colors. In a time
when everything was black, white and grey, she lit the whole world up. They
called her a witch and said that she had cast a spell on me. I continue up the
second set of stairs leading to the attic. The door leading to the roof is open. That is impossible. I remember mother having it
locked up after an incident. I was not a child then, I was almost a man. But,
mother had her ways of convincing anyone to agree with her. I walk out, onto
the roof. It is raining even harder now and I can hardly see where I’m walking.
I hear a voice. Someone is calling out to me. I cannot hear what the person is
saying. I see a cloak clad figure standing near the edge of the roof. The face
of the being is covered with a hood. As soon as I start walking towards the
figure, a pale hand reaches out of the cloak and lifts the hood off the face.
I stop. I’m frozen. I cannot feel
anything. I feel everything. It’s too cold. I start laughing. Life is so cruel.
It has been so very cruel. I lift my head, and look forward. Jemima is standing
in front of me. The child in the piano room is half hidden in her cloak, trying
to escape the rain. In a moment everything becomes clear and in that very
moment, everything also becomes a mess. I run towards them without giving it a
second thought and I keep running. In fact, I could run forever. I feel safe, I
feel blissful. I’m flying now and there are rainbows all around me. It’s not
raining anymore and life seems to be in a complete standstill. I am unbroken.
*
Pain, all I feel is pain. I open my eyes,
instantly; I am blinded by the harsh lights. Where am I? Warm yet slightly
harsh hands help me sit up. Water is forced down my throat. I resist; it is no
good. When I’m able to see again, I find myself in a hospital. A heavily built
woman is looking down at me, her emotionless face scares me. She starts to
explain where I am and why I am there. When she finally stops talking, I feel
broken. I feel empty and hollow. I start to weep and do not stop for a very
long time. When I do stop, my memories start playing in my head as if someone
hit the rewind button.
I start with what the doctor just said.
She told me that some teenagers who were trespassing on my property found me
lying on the ground. It seemed as if I had jumped off the roof in a suicidal
attempt. When she decided to contact my relatives she could not find anyone.
The teenagers, who sat with me till the ambulance reached the house, told the
paramedics that all they knew was that a man and woman used to live there. They
had a child, who was very beautiful. The woman and child died in a very tragic
incident. They were taken prisoner by the enemy, tortured and killed. The man
living in that house had lost all sanity and locked himself up. Then, one day,
he was gone. No one could find him but then no one had exactly cared enough to
try and find him. I realize now, I am that man and at that very moment, it is
as if the world comes crashing down upon me.
*
