It Lives Within

Not every monster you fear is unknown. Some are more familiar than everything you hold close. Meet Azalea Hazel, the complete opposite of a girl with whom you feel like something weird would happen. An ordinary high school student with a ordinary circle of acquaintances, see how the world seems to mutate around her incorporating anything and everything sinister. Who is the victim? The journey of an ordinary girl in the midst of an fantastic reality, and her struggle to get out of the clutches of surrealism that binds her. Excerpt: It has been two days and my hands are still shivering; blue veins racing through the papery white folds in the pink skin, blurred, of the cold seeping into the marrow and spreading out seismic waves through the whole of me. My vision is foggy, just the same that has been for years, maybe decades, who knows. And it might be this, or the cold- I wouldn't know- that everything seems blurred to my eyesight. Only one picture on the mantle piece is devoid of the haze that has settled on my lens, or it could be because my mind has memorised it so good that I no longer need to look at it. Or is it simply because the picture itself is of a foggy morning, the evening I remember so clearly that even the smudged lines of the lamp post and the invisible mold of the bus is easily discernible?

Soumi_Sarkar_2612 · Fantasy

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41 Chs

Chapter 18

Andrew guides me to the interior of the garage, which, at first glance, looks empty and dark. A dilapidated corridor leads to another which is lit with a dim yellow bulb. An echo from the inside tells me that there are people inside, but I can't very well see anything. We turn a left and passes through a low door and my eyes are dazzled. The wide space inside the room is lined with old, and vintage bikes and sports cars. The place is lit with bright, fluorescent lights that reflects off their shiny bodies, silver and black and red. Many of the vehicles are covered, and a few paces to the right brings us to a group of men sitting in the midst of some older looking vehicles. Their drunk laughter echoes around the spacious garage, and we move forward to greet them.

The men doesn't realise our presence until Andrew reaches up to one of them and kicks his behind. The man, or I should say, boy, since he looks no older than me, falls on his face and comes up with indignition. He is about to raise his hand when he notices Andrew, and his face breaks into a grin. And then he notices me.

"Hey, Az. Welcome to the Dumpster Maniacs. I am Dexter." He extends a bony hand to me as if he has known me all my life.

I give him the biggest smile I could muster, so as hide my nervousness, and frankly speaking, fear of being with unknown men.

"Nice to meet ya. Who chose the name by the way?" I ask, laughing.

"I did." The tall, muscular, blond man in white T-shirt chirps up from the ground. He is lying on his back, supported by his hands. He looks only a few years older than me. He brings his hands for a shake. "Alex."

As they introduces me to the rest of the group, one older man in his fifties, Amrit, and two middle aged men, Bala and Minh, and laughing at their hilarious jokes and my feeble attempts of humour, and feasting on the minimal, yet fun arrangement of peanuts, sodas, fried meat and other savoury snacks, I find it hard to believe the rumours I have heard about them- that they are criminals. I reserve my judgement on them for later, and decide to enjoy myself. They talk about the most trivial of things, mostly taking piss off each other, and their laughter is so earnest that I find the atmosphere easier than I have ever. I laugh with them like I have known them for years. I stop when they pass me a plastic glass half-filled with some amber liquid.

"What is this?" I ask.

"Whiskey. Have a drink." Amrit says, pushing the glass in my hands.

"I don't drink."

"C'mon, Az. Have it, no? Join the big boys." Bala tries to force it into my face. His hands stop when Minh hold his hand still.

"Azalea will drink if she wants to. She won't if she doesn't want to. Understood?" He speaks in a clear voice, and Bala backs away.

I look at the glass and try to ignore the thrill that comes over me. I have never drunk liquor, and I am not sure if I'll get another chance soon, or if ever. Andrew takes one glass which is darker in shade than the one that was offered to me, and gulps it in twice. A recklessness comes over me and I pick up my own glass, and the men grin.

I take a sip and immediately regret. It is bad, worse than refill ink that I once ended up sucking from my pen. The pretty golden lights bouncing off the surface of the drink hides the fact that it is not just bitter, it is sour and sickly sweet at the same time and makes your body convulse. I gasp and ends up retching the stuff out.

"Ew. How the hell do you guys drink this muck? And why?" I ask in disgust.

"You won't get the answer to the why if and unless you drink it. And how, you say? This is how." Alex takes a sip of the drink, gulps it quickly, and fills his mouth with snacks. I try to copy him, and after three pegs, I finally get the answer to why.

The fluorescent lights seems to have dimmed, but sparkling in a picture perfect way. Everything has slowed, the laughter has decreased in volume, the people around me have turned blurry around the edges, and I feel the feelings inside me fading away. I laugh non-stop, at words devoid of meaning. The only thing I feel is giddiness, and after a few moments of carefree joy, discomfort in my stomach. I stand up and the ground is oddly still- I used to think it would revolve around or something- and my legs seem to have acquired new bounce. I run outside and throw up, or at least, I think I do because I can't very well see in the dark, and the next day when I ask Andrew, he assures me that I indeed threw up outside the garage.

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