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Post by Lord Greevon on Nov 14, 2010 22:16:48 GMT -5
Rushing water empties my head of all thought. The faucet drains water into the sink, constantly filling and emptying at once. It's mesmerizing to me. I can't explain why. It's almost as if there is nothing else in the world. Me and the running faucet. A sound snaps me back to reality. The razor I was holding fell out of my hand and into the stream, washing it of the shaving cream that held to it. "Damn it." I whisper to myself as I quickly pick the razor out of the sink. I instinctively rub it under the water as if it had fallen into some sort of grime. I understand how unnecessary it is, but something about sinks and tile floors has always made me overly conscious about dirt, even when there isn't any. "Clara, are you up yet?" I say as I tap excess water off the razor and bring it back to my face. A few seconds go by and there is no answer. "I guess she's sleeping late again today." Clara has been getting into a habit of sleeping to whenever she likes. It doesn't bother me. She's been having a rough time recently. I finish shaving and get dressed. My slacks are a little tight around my waist, my dress shirt remains untucked and baggy, and my crimson tie is done in a four in hand knot.
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Post by Lord Greevon on Nov 21, 2010 0:36:22 GMT -5
Dressed for a day at home, I call for Clara again. "Clara, you can't sleep in all day." I walk over to the bed and find her in a heap with the covers drawn out over her head. She use to love mornings, with the sunlight pouring in through the window much like it is today. Now she tries to sleep away every minute she doesn't have to spend at school or eating. She's such a good girl, but I guess she just can't take all the stress from Noel passing. Noel would keep things together. She would pack Clara's lunch before she went off to school, she would help her study, she use to clean the house and complain about how I would never help. I even remember one time I answered with "If you don't clean, then what would you have to do all day?" Looking back, it was a pretty harsh comment considering she really did have nothing else to occupy herself with. Well, I do all the cleaning now anyways. "Clara, you have to get up." I reach for the covers and pull. My face freezes with terror, and I can hardly breath. My hand shakes and drops the sheet back haphazardly onto the bed. The sheet being moved revealed nothing. The bed lay empty as if there was never anything under the covers. The light of the morning sun shines into my eyes and they start to water. "Clara, this isn't funny. Where are you?" I say in a rushed, wavering voice. I hurry through the hall looking into every room. The closet, the bathroom I had just come from, my bedroom, the kitchen, the living room. She isn't in any of them. "Clara!" I call out every now and then. I run to the front door and try to twist it open, but the handle won't move. It makes a rattling sound as I desperately try to force the door open. I check all the locks and see they are all undone, but the door still won't open. "Brother..." I hear Clara call me from the bathroom with a distraught tone. "Clara, what's wrong?" I say as I walk in only to find myself alone in the room.
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Post by Lord Greevon on Nov 27, 2010 15:13:07 GMT -5
The room is still fogged from my shower even though I left the fan on and Clara was not to be found, but something else wasn't right. The sink was filled with trimmed hair and thick crust from the shaving cream. I remember in my obsessive cleaning there was nothing left in the sink when I went to wake Clara. "What the hell is happening?" I say to myself as another wave of panic swells up within me. I rip the curtain to the shower away in hopes of finding Clara, but the curtain rod simply crashes down into the empty tub. I turn to leave again, but something catches my eye. I saw something in my reflection in the mirror. Something didn't match my own movements, but I can't quite place what. I stare into the mirror for a second hoping to see something I didn't get before when I realize how irresponsible I'm being. Clara is missing and I'm gawking at my reflection in a mirror. I dash out of the bathroom, once again seeing a flaw in the reflection, but I don't care. I need to call the police. Would Clara run away? Am I that incapable of caring for her that I drew her to leave in the middle of the night? I reach the living room and go straight for the phone. As I'm about to pick it up and dial 911 it rings. I flinch from the shock, but quickly grab the phone. "Hello, who is this!?" I urgently ask hoping it would lead me to an idea of where Clara ran off to. "Brother... I'm scared." Clara's voice whispers loosely in a way that makes her sound distant from reality. "Clara!? Clara, where are you?" I scream into the phone, but the line goes dead and I'm once again left alone.
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Post by Lord Greevon on Dec 6, 2010 5:18:37 GMT -5
"Brother, why are you standing there?" I hear a click. Something seems to adjust itself. I find Clara trying to get my attention, my eyes still fixated on the running stream of water. "Clara, how... how long was I...?" I try to find the words, but I can't in my confusion. "You were standing there for fifteen minutes. I was getting worried so I called Rebeca for help." Her voice slows and quiets as she says "Rebeca" and she grabs one arm by the the wrist behind her back. She always does that when she doesn't know what to do. "You called Rebeca?" I feel a tinge of pain in my chest. I've hated Rebeca for a long time. I'd be lying if I said I never liked her though. We were good friends for years, but ever since that day I simply can't stand to look her in the eyes. And now whenever I can't handle something she's the one who comes running. Maybe it would be better if Clara was just sent off to live with her instead of me. "Clara, why did you call Rebeca?" I say slowly, asking myself more than Clara. "I was afraid. I was scared you were having another episode and I know your medication hasn't been working well recently so I thought if I-" She forces out anything she can think of to justify her actions, but I stop her short. "Clara. It's okay. I just wanted to know why. If you think we need Rebeca, then I'll talk to her, okay?" I accept it and slowly finish shaving. Almost dropping the razor into the sink, I'm able to get a hold of it again, as if I knew what was going to happen.
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Post by Lord Greevon on Jan 23, 2011 22:28:49 GMT -5
************************************************************** "Rebeca, there's a monster." Clara's eyes glimmer in the dark, wet with tears. "Clara, come here." Rebeca opens her arms. Clara eagerly rushes into their embrace and hides her face in Rebeca's shirt. "A monster?" Rebeca lets go of Clara and crouches down to wipe her tears. "Where's the monster? In your closet?" "No...it's on the roof. It's there every night. He sits above the front door." Her voice wavers as she is about to start crying again. "Clara, there isn't a monster on the roof. It's just your imagination." As the words start to soothe Clara, a loud rattling sound comes from the front of the house. Rebeca hugs Clara tightly for an instant and then tells her to wait while she cautiously walks to the front door. She turns the handle slowly, somewhat afraid of what might be outside. She rips the door open and steps outside to look on the roof. In the shadows, there awaited nothing. She steps back inside and walks to the room where she left Clara. A sense of dread washes over her as there is no one left in the bedroom. "Clara!?" "Did you find the monster...?" A small voice comes from under the bed. Rebeca sighs and lifts the covers to reveal Clara. "No, I didn't find a monster. What makes you think a monster lives on our roof?" Rebeca asks, relieved. "...Brother makes it live there. He makes it live over our roof so we can be protected while he's gone. I know it's a good monster, but it still scares me." "So that's what this is about." Rebeca pauses for a moment, looks at Clara, and then continues with a hushed voice. "Clara, you need to stop making up these stories. He's gone, Clara. I'm sorry, but he's gone." "No!" Clara steps back quickly and yells. "He's coming back! You don't know, but he's coming back! I know he is. I know Brother will come back for me." Rebeca grabs her shoulder with one arm and hugs her elbow to her chest. "Clara... He's dead, Clara. Please stop it." "No! He's not dead." Clara ceases all movement for one moment and then looks up at Rebeca. "It's your fault. You made him leave! You did this!" Rebeca's eyes slowly water and she stumbles back to sit on the bed. She could barely choke back the tears. "It...wasn't my fault. I..." Clara quiets down and sits next to Rebeca. The room is silent for a few minutes that seem to drag on forever. "Rebeca?" Clara asks. "...Yeah?" "Why didn't you love him?" The house again grows silent, alone on the end of the urban street, the figure of a man sitting calmly on the roof.
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