Today’s
Prompt:
Courtesy:
Writing.Com
Word Count: 2,232
Workout
on weekends has lost its appeal for me. Not since the day, I popped my locker
and chanced upon a piece of paper in a condition suggesting it’s been crumpled
at least, once and then smoothed out again. The drama has clogged my mind with
a truckload of unanswered questions. Had the mystery person who I’m yet to meet
up close, battled a last minute urge to ditch the stint of delivering the note?
Had they suddenly decided dropping off the paper was not worth the trouble or
was the note already in its present state before it came into their possession?
How
exactly do you go about answering such a question when your mystery guy and yourself
might be the self same person?
You know, maybe I ought to tell
the damn story from the beginning. It might help improve the situation, broaden
your perspective while I’m at it. I am the kind of guy who tries anything once
and if I like it, I’m hooked for life. Calisthenics was my addiction. From the
very first day I came out to the gym with a colleague, I’ve never had enough of
workouts. It’s like a drug; a hooked on first sight kind of situation from day
one. I happened to be out at the gym on a fine Saturday to be nowhere but in a
gym toning up every muscle in your body.
I
was in high spirits when I came off working out, thinking how I was gonna hit
it off with the new girl when I got back to the office on Monday. What was the
name? I knew I had it someplace. Tangerine. Yeah, that wasn’t so tough to
remember, was it? And while I’m at it maybe, talk her into taking a dip in my
Jacuzzi. Only things
worked out in an interesting way.
You
wanna know what really got me spooked out about the note in my locker? It was
the handwriting on the paper. I kept thinking I did it. And hit myself over the
head trying to remember when I’d written something like that. How’s that for
odd? On the other hand, I thought it was some sort of practical joke. Tell me,
who wouldn’t? And then I had a closer study of the paper and noticed that the
printing matter or what I’d written off as ink was indeed, blood. Human or
animal? I could not tell. The whole stuff might’ve been done in a hurry. It was
apparent and even though the blood was dry, it retained a certain glossy feel.
I
held the crumpled sheet in my hands staring at it for quite a while and
wondering what in the world I was supposed to do with it. Already the gym had
started emptying out. Who would believe my story if I told them I returned to
find a note in my locker, which I had locked up before my workout and found
locked when I got back? A note featuring a single inscription HELP! written
out in ink which
was possibly, blood?
What
I did was have a little talk with the one man I knew wasn’t gonna make fun of
my superstitious butt.
Hanson
was in when I called at his house. He was all ears.
“Hanson,”
I said. “I know how silly this might sound to the ear. I got a note I obtained
under the strangest of circumstances.” I showed the note to Hanson. “I needed
someone to talk to.”
Hanson
didn’t touch the note, didn’t even flinch. He maintained his position on his
comfy chair scrutinizing the thing with eyes sunken so deep into their sockets
they almost didn’t exist. Then he read the content aloud.
“Help.”
“Yes, help. That is all it says
and it beat the shit out of me that I don’t know who or what the hell placed it
in my locker. It’s hard enough not knowing who needs help or what variety of
help’s needed.” I held up the note. “No name, no forwarding address and no hint
who or what needs my help or how in
hell I’m supposed to deliver. This is sick is all.”
Hanson
said, “Hand me the note.” He leaned forward to collect. “I wanna have a look at
it.”
I
slid it over into his hand and felt a strange kind of hurt and loneliness. In
an odd sense, the note had dug its path into my affection and I was beginning
to see it as a part of me. An object intended for my safekeeping.
Hanson
noticed my uneasiness. “Idara, can you trust yourself with this thing?” He held
up the paper stuck between his forefinger and thumb like something wet and
nasty and needing to be disposed of. “And not get personally attached. After
all’s been said and done it’s still a piece of paper.” I saw myself reach up
and pluck it out of his hand. Outward, I remained calm. “Let’s not wrestle for
a piece of paper with a message neither of us can actually decode. Don’t get
carried away, Idara.” Hanson flipped the note had a quick peek on the back.
“Here you go, you can have it back.” And without further examination he gave it
over to me.
“I don’t understand it,” Hanson
said, after a few moments of quiet meditation. “I don’t disbelieve your tale,
Idara. I just can’t place the why it
happened. His gaze fell on the note, which I had folded over in my hand. “Sure
you wanna hold on to that thing? I’d get rid of it if I were you. Heck, it
could be the work of a serial killer who’s trying to frame an unsuspecting guy
like you.”
Goosebumps
broke out all over my flesh. “Shit! You think somebody’s playing me, Hanson? I
was freaked out about the note in my locker it skipped my mind to check with
the local law. It’s not late, you think?”
“I don’t see cuffs on your wrists
and ankles just yet. ‘Course it ain’t late,” he said with a wave of the hand.
I
checked with the cops about a serial killer on the loose who might be
interested in having a young gym enthusiast put away or any murderer for that
matter. Nothing. I was cleared but of what exactly. When you don’t know who or
what you’re up against it’s difficult to define progress. The cops won’t touch
the note but let me keep it. It was my burden it seemed.
“A friend of yours might be
playing with you. He’ll fess up in time. Just try not to take it personal.”
I
made a mental note. This was the second time somebody told me not to take the note
personal. And it only strengthened my resolve about uncovering the mystery of
the note.
The
first time the note revealed its supernatural origin; I was on my way home from
the barbers and had to walk past an alley, which was thrown into pitch darkness.
I felt a sharp pain in my thigh like someone had buried a butcher knife in it
and twisted. I squealed and surprised myself by grabbing for my wallet. I’d
folded the note and stashed it with the cash. When I shook it out, it was
glowing. The letters of the solitary word blinked and buzzed like neon. A most
amazing event unfolded on the heels of this phenomenon; I had a hunch someone
in that alley needed my help and fast. I cannot explain how I knew; it was as
if I’d rehashed the whole thing beforehand. I stepped into the darkness
wondering how I was supposed to defend myself if a vagrant attacked me.
Behind
a trashcan, a boy of probably no more than fifteen lay unconscious as blood
pooled around his head. I couldn’t evaluate the extent of his injuries. The doctors
informed me that had I wasted a breath, the boy would have cashed in his chips.
I’d just been enlightened on the note’s purpose. Before the week ran itself
out, I was the first-man-on-the-scene in several near-death incidents. For all
my troubles maybe, there was something on the bright side of the equation
looking out for me.
Yet,
with every great blessing comes a greater sacrifice. My dreams were not void of
nightmares. Tortured visions filled with screaming people invaded my sleep. Folks
who toned the same word over and over again.
HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP!
HELP! HELP! HELP!
I
remember once, as a kid, wishing I was endowed with superpowers. I wished then
that I could revoke that wish.
I never married.
I went out with a girl named Tangerine. I believe
I mentioned her somewhere in the course of this story. In the end, our
relationship went smash to the floor. I think the note had a hand in that. I can’t
tell how I knew but I knew. It was a big blessing to me and a bigger one to all
the people given a second shot at life. But a blessing ain’t complete if it don’t
perfect fulfillment.
The
question on your lips is have I ever tried to rid myself of the note? Of course.
Tangerine complained the note was spooky with all the creepy stuff it made me
do. I’ve set the damn thing on fire and stood by to watch it burn to ashes only
to find it in my wallet when I tried to pay for groceries. I recall the day I flushed
it down the toilet. Did it stay buried in the drainpipes? Hell no! Back in my
wallet again. One day, late in the nighttime, the note levitated and glided
across my living room, glowing and buzzing like a teeny weeny siren. It was a
marvel to hold and cherish for all lifetime. The highpoints of the little show
off was the note wasn’t keeping me entertained. Somebody needed help and the
note wanted me to get out there in the middle of the night and give it to him
or her. Ain’t that the craziest thing you ever heard?
What
really tipped the scale was the event, which prompted me to scribble this
little note explaining the conditions attached with the gift of the note. You ought to give me points for trying to clear
the air concerning the purpose and the responsibility that goes with possessing
the note.
One
uneventful Saturday, after my workout (yes, I’d started working out again), I got
to my locker, the same locker where I came in contact with the note, and met
two strange dudes probably waiting for me. The weirdoes knew something about
the appearance of the note in my locker a few years ago. This time they had a
message besides HELP!
“Mr. Idara, I believe. We came
in respect of a certain note of which you have been made unwitting custodian,”
said the one who was possibly the leader of the team. “We apologize for the
trouble it may have caused you.”
“You have no idea,” I said. “You
nut heads have absolutely no idea the shit I’ve been through, the sacrifices I’ve
made for the sake of one word.”
“Sorry for your loss. We would
like to have the note back, if you please. Look on the bright side; you’d
finally be rid of it. We know how persistent it can be if it chooses to.”
“You telling me? Listen, I lost
a life, an entire life because of your trifling note. The girl I ought to have
married ditched me thanks to your note and now you two drag your sorry asses in
here and try to steal the last fragment of my broken life. You gotta be kidding
me”
“Don’t make this hard on
yourself. We did not drop the note in your locker. That was the last custodian
all the way,” the assistant knucklehead said.
“And who dropped it off with the
last custodian? Wait, let me guess. It
wasn’t you,” I said, stashing my gears in my locker.
“It’s a little complicated,”
said the knucklehead in command.
“You guys can’t be for real
throwing that Facebook shit in people’s
faces.”
“The note has a higher calling. It’s
place is not on the earth. There will be consequences if you do not willingly hand it over.”
I
was already walking away. I was done playing with those two cave men. Let them
catch the next space shuttle and ship their asses back to mars. The note
belongs to us, now.
That
was several years ago and the note’s power has slowed my aging process. Were
there any consequences? All I can say is I couldn’t seal a relationship but
what’s a married life compared with a chance to save human life? My friends tell
me the note has taken control of my mind and I’ve become its slave. I tell them
that’s bullshit. Just because I want nothing else out of life other than please
the note don’t mean I’m its captive.
You
are the new custodian of the note because you earned it. I’ve watched you for
some months and you got a good heart. But what to do with your wife and kids? Let
the note be your guide.
And
even if nothing good comes of your family remind yourself that others have it
worse.
Eneh Akpan
June
3, 2013
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