Login via

Submission Series novel Chapter 4

During these nineteen years of my life, I have never come across a novel or movie where they show the reality. It's such a great irony that whatever they show never happens in real life. Or perhaps they do, oblivious to the many people all across the world to whom it's just a piece of fiction. We will never ever know. We have these wild imaginations like the avatar, hunger games, twilight saga, fast and furious, and others. I am not ashamed to say that some of the above-mentioned movies are indeed my favorite.

But that's the thing about fiction. A cow lives on a tree.

Every story has two sides, some have more, and most would never be heard. I wonder if it's better that way. Not knowing the dirty, cruel, true side. It makes others feel better, but it makes us, me feel worse every time. Not that I tell my story to anyone, never have, but sometimes I just can't stop telling it to myself and what follows after, better not be revealed.

Comparing what has happened and will happen is not right. Life is different for everyone, and everyone has gone through their own version of-

I crashed into somebody, not noticing the person in front when I was walking with my eyes cast down, too lost in my thoughts.

"HEY! Watch it rose! Stop daydreaming already!" Liza smiled, the shine from her eyes making me feel warm as always.

"I am sorry Lizzie, you know how I get after the music class," I said sheepishly.

School had already ended and everyone was scurrying away to their cars in the parking lot to avoid getting wet in the snowfall. There was snow everywhere, covering the parking lot, making it slippery. The only green visible was the campus, which was colored in a dark shade of lime.

"So, how was your music class?" She asked with a hidden chirp in her voice.

"You mean how was the music teacher, right? Well, I guess he is okay. He is good at what he does, but he is a little bit younger than what you assumed, and he is Russian, I think" We started walking towards our car as I thought about the last half an hour I spent in the music room.

I was not surprised when he wrote the name Dimitri Nevada on the blackboard. He was 26 years old and had a prominent Russian accent. But the strangest thing was that he was not looking at anyone, he was just staring at the back of the class, almost as if he was staring at the wall... it was quite distracting.

"Ooh, sounds interesting, so what did you guys do?" Her indicative tone still present as I tried to ignore it and replied with as much disinterest as I could muster up.

"Oh, nothing much, it was just an introductory class." The curiosity in her not satisfied as she kept on throwing questions at me.

"Oh, and what about..."

When I reached home, I parked the car in our driveway. Tires crunching the gravel underneath as the car came to a stop with a shudder. The thud of the car door slamming shut behind me a little too loud in the air as I took my time absorbing my surroundings, a reality which I was thankful for. My eyes travelled up to the house which has been my home for two years. With its ancient slanted roof and an attic, it looked a bit spooky but nevertheless, it was my heaven. Our home was located in quite an isolated place, but it was easy to afford it with the limited resources we had.

I walked the short distance to the front door and unlocked it and was about to close it behind me when I noticed a car parked a few paces away from our driveway.

Maybe the person is lost.

It wasn't hard getting lost here. When we just moved in here I always used to find myself getting nervous every time I drove alone, wondering if I took a wrong road which ultimately made me call Liza a hundred times to get the directions. It was home now, I knew the place like the back of my hand. Practice makes you perfect, I guess.

I shrugged and closed the door and walked up to my room to shower and change and get ready for a lone movie night with snacks and food.

Alas, what better way can there be if you want to forget everything and be someone you are not?

Reading History

No history.

Comments

The readers' comments on the novel: Submission Series