Back To Before They Disappeared Edit

A colossal wave lashed against my face as I stood on the cliff edge, staring down at the rocks below. I don’t want to do this, I need someone to guide me, nurture me, give me a home. But there is no such person anymore. The peaceful silence of the depths would be a relief. Maybe the best way to explain this is to go back; back to before they disappeared...

I remember it as beautiful day with the sun shining, children smiling and parents washing their cars, temporally without a worry in the world. The lawns lined across Selloly Street were cut short and glowed bright green against the clear blue sky. My dark wavy hair stood out as I cycled through the marvellous scene dressed in baggy jeans and a plain white shirt. My dad lived just around the corner, he had called me to visit him, and so I found myself leaving university for a short while to do so. I liked my dad, but he could be very pushy about my studies.

Swinging my bike into my dad’s drive, I hopped off and gave his doorbell a gentle push and waited for an answer. Sounds of banging and rustling followed, the door swung open and dad’s face appeared in the shadow of his old house.

“Son! You’re early! It’s been awhile since you last visited, come in,” dad beamed welcomely, “you mother’s out but she wishes you well.”

I wiped my feet and walked into dad’s kitchen, where he had the kettle on. He had had the house for most of his life and it was beginning to show, coffee stains covered his once bright red sofa, bits of paint and wood chipped off every time you touched them and it stunk of damp. I sat around his small kitchen table and sipped at the tea he had placed in front of me.

“So how are you boy?” he asked as he sat himself opposite me, “And what about your studies?”

“Dad, I really don’t want to talk about my studies, I know you’re interested and that’s great, but I just don’t want to talk about them.” I replied. He met my eyes with a sunken expression as if he was pleading.

“Please son I…”

“No! I’m not even sure I want to take up philosophy!” I remember leaping to my feet at this point when a horn sounded outside, “My mate’s here now, I’ve got to go, and send mum my love.” And with that, I stormed outside, scrambling into my friend’s car and slamming the door shut. That was the last day I saw my dad alive.

My Fault Edit

Lightning struck the horizon and the sky roared in pain, bits of rock slid from under my feet, plunging into the sea below. My mother wasn’t home most of the time, she often travelled abroad on business, but I had no idea what she actually did. I shouldn’t have argued with dad, it’s my fault he did what he did. My fault!

One week had passed since I had had my argument with dad; I had spent the time off partying in nightclubs and friend’s flats. Dad’s house towered above me as I stood on his drive, there to collect my bike. It was as if a dark mood had descended upon Selloly Street, but maybe that was just me, gardens lay bare and the sky had a grey tinge to it. As if the neighbourhood was deserted.

I knocked twice on the door, no rustling or clattering followed and I waited for a minute or two. No reply. As I pushed the door open it creaked off its hinges and splintered wood lay scattered all over the floor.

My breathing slowed, like I was drowning. I scanned the tragic scene, the house that dad had loved had been wrecked, the table I had sat at just the week before was cracked and sprayed with blood. Someone had left the tap on leaving the house flooded, the water reaching two inches high.

The hall was the same, where was my dad? I asked myself, who did this? A tear dripped from my eye. I shouted for him, screamed for him! Still no reply. A soft ringtone whispered from my pocket and I slid my phone into my hand, holding it to my ear.

“I’m sorry George,” my dad’s voice said over the phone, “I shouldn’t have got you into this mess.” He hung up, I tried desperately to call him back so I could ask where he was and if he was okay, but it was if he had never made the call, my phone had no record of it.

Impossible To Have Been Made Edit

Wind whipped and howled through the air across the coast and rain poured down from every space in the night sky, soaking my torn and dirty clothes. After I had received the mysterious phone call I fled to my girlfriend’s house and took shelter there. My whole life had been ripped to shreds, that night I slept there was a night of depression and hideous nightmares, I woke up screaming. But what I was about to experience would make that very phone call impossible ever to have been made...

Warming hot chocolate met my lips and I glugged it down but felt no better. My eyes were sore and puffed up, hair all over the place. A rough night I would say. My girlfriend sat next to me in an attempt to comfort me, no use.

She had spoken to the police about the disappearance and I believed (on the basis of the phone call) that dad was still alive. She had also tried to phone mum but she didn’t answer any of the calls. This, in my fragile state, worried me ever the more. Completely unaware that in the next few minutes I would find out just where my dad was and how well he is.

A doorbell echoed through the house and my girlfriend went to get it, the poor girl, such a waste of life. I heard the door open, a short exchange of words and then a life shattering gunshot. The following events seemed to happen so quickly, my memory of them is blurred, but what I do remember is running like hell.

Bullets showered down around me, smashing and ripping apart anything in their path, the glass doors burst in an instant and I sprinted in fear of my life across the back garden, the guns cackling at me from behind. The two men chasing me were both bald and the kind of people you wouldn’t want to meet down a dark alleyway. Each had a thick leather jacket flapping from the shoulders as they madly blasted away with the assault rifles in their hands.

I soon found myself taking cover in the forest that lay just behind Selloly Street when suddenly the gunfire stopped. The sky retained its grey tinge, my theory is that I went mad after dad went missing, moss covered trees stretched high but there was something that gave me the creeps. A thick rotting stench. It was neither an ordinary smell nor one I had ever encountered, like the essence of death. Slowly, I lifted my head, what I saw next changed my life forever...

M.W.Peacey 18:11, January 18, 2010 (UTC)

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