PoW: I by Dian Farah Nabila

Trigger warning: Violence & blood

On that cold morning, I quickly parked my car, ran into my apartment, then hid in my room, letting the water droplets from my wet clothes drop on the floor. The room was strangely gloomier. It smelt like dust, dry, the walls and floor looked dirtier, the spiderwebs that decorated the walls and ceiling were seen more than before. I sat in the corner of my bed, folding my legs together and hugged them. My heart beat a little faster and my skin felt colder the more I spent my time in the room. It was stuffy and suffocating. The rain outside made the world darker but I did not feel like turning on the light. The mixture of darkness that lay in this room and the dirt sticking here and there frightened me to the point that something might attack me in the dark all of a sudden. 

No, it was not my fault. I just could not see the road clearly. It was definitely the woman’s fault. There is no sane person who suddenly runs to the middle of the road in the heavy rain just to save a cat. I shook my head. I should have helped them, but my head could not think straight, my body obeyed my mind, I left the dead woman and cat on the road. 

My whole body quivered, I could not distract my mind from thinking about that. I felt like everything in my room; this bed, those empty boxes, cushions, pillows, the folded blanket, bolster, and my dolls were watching me, glaring at me in silence. The fragile and damaged ceiling looked ready to fall down and beat me into pieces, taking revenge.

I closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, convinced myself that I was innocent because it was just an accident. Just then, I remembered my grandfather once told me that killing a cat might bring bad luck if the doer does not take care of the corpse. But again, I convinced myself what he told was just a myth. After calming myself down, I turned the light on and cleaned myself.

When I was walking from the kitchen bringing my first meal to my room, a gecko jumped onto my head, then it fell to the bowl coincided with the sound of thunder and with my immediate reflex, my hand threw the bowl. The cereals and the pieces of the broken bowl scattered on the floor. I stayed still, in shock. Thinking of another myth that if a house gecko fell on your head something bad would happen made me become paranoid. It sounded funny and did not make any sense, but my heart somehow believed it. 

After cleaning the floor, I lost my appetite to eat and decided to make a cup of hot chocolate. I sat on the weathered brown couch with the cup on my grip facing the huge window in my spacious living room to watch the heavy rain. Only the rain sound could be heard in my ears, nothing else. It still felt cold around me. The white walls in the living room turned into greyish due to the lack of light from the outside since the dark cloud wrapped the city. 

‘Will I be okay?’

‘Do I really deserve to be punished?’

‘Will God forgive me?’

These questions lingered in my head. 

I sipped the drink, but then something strange moved in my throat. Realizing that, I coughed hard, trying to vomit it up. 

A centipede dropped from my mouth. A tear dropped from my eye. 

Feeling disgusted, I spat out my saliva. I felt like throwing up as I was nauseated. 

I put the cup on the table and hugged my legs. The chill wind blew into my apartment, piercing me to the bone. I cried thinking about the bad possibilities that would happen. Had not recovered from the shock caused by the centipede, the sound of mice squeaking along with a loud knocking sound from the plafond startled me. I covered my ears right before the power went out, I was shrouded in darkness. Frightened, my blood flowed faster.

The sound from the plafond stopped, but the rain was still pouring heavily. I lifted my head to look up, but then a sting struck my neck, I quickly scratched it. It turned out that a flying insect bit me. Strange, I thought. I did not know where it came from. 

Was it another bad luck for me?

Was I being punished?

The bite on my neck itched more and more, I cried. As I scratched, the itch even spread through my face, chest, both of my arms, my back, waist, and stomach. I stood up, finding something that might help me with the itch and pain. When my eyes scanned the room thoroughly, I found a back scratcher on the desk near the kitchen. It might be helpful to get rid of this itch, I thought. I grabbed it and began to scratch my neck harshly. It was painful, but it helped reducing the itch I felt. I aimed the scratcher at my face, and scratched it on my cheeks. I then took my shirt off so that it would be easier to scratch my back and chest. 

I kept scratching my body with the scratcher, and my skin turned reddish.

The deeper I scratched, the less itchy I felt. So, I scratched deeper.

I cried out in pain, but there was nothing I could think of other than how to reduce the itch as soon as possible. The tool in my hand could not stop scratching my upper body.

Then I realized that I was covered in my own blood.

I dropped the tool, the itch was gone, and the only thing I could feel was pain. I fell on my back to the floor, letting my blood soak the ground. I gazed at the tool I was using to scratch my skin.

It was a fork.

My vision was getting blurry when the sun came out of the dark cloud. The sunlight finally brightened the room.

The rain had stopped, so did my heartbeat.

Author’s commentary: It’s my first thriller story. The setting of this short story is inspired by an unused room on the 2nd floor in my house. The plot is fully my imagination. I want to share the feelings I feel when I read thriller stories with the readers. I want the readers to feel the same way.

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