The Memory of Cath

Time lost its meaning for a brief moment. In the house where she thought she will never come back; to remember things she wanted to forget. Her mind knew better, but there was something left in her, that kept drawing her to the house. Inside she could feel herself being surrounded by the smell of old dusty furniture, which blended together with filthy mold stench coming from the under of a couch. She wondered who would ever want to live in here. No one would ever think twice about it if they knew what she did there. Why this couch in this abandoned house was bringing her shivers everytime she gave a hard look to it. The worst part is that she wanted to forget, but couldn’t. At least she thought she wants to forget. People where the ones who kept telling her that she should forget about it, but coming here after year was the best way to cope with the pain it all inflicted. Pain which now laid a foundation on the couch. Blood stains still covered the top part of the couch.

“Seems like no one ever got rid of it.”

She muttered under her nose, continuing to examine it. Finally, she sat on it and let the memories consume her thoughts, shifting her back to that day. For a few seconds, it felt good. Lingering on a thought of having the pain behind her, and to sink in it once more for the reason she didn’t know yet. She felt like it drove her there; that, or she was feeling slight remorse about what she did. Feeling that what she did was wrong, but felt good on the other hand. It was a vengeful act, but she called it liberation from lies.

For past fifteen minutes, she sat there, with legs crossed in front of her. Motionlessly staring into the ceiling, until buzzing sound disturbed her. It was the fly which buzzed, while circled around her legs, landing on them for a brief moment. Despite how much she tried to ignore it, fly just won’t leave her alone. The stench from mold and blood attracted not just flies. The smell which inherited the couch drew all sorts of the tiny creatures around the room or the yard. Figured that fly will eventually leave her alone if she keeps waving her hands in its direction, perhaps even kill it. Yet again it was a false idea which didn’t worked as she planned. In the end, she swung her palm at her leg and fly fell down on the ground, motionless. Falling into the dried red colored blood stain.

“You really had to do it, don’t you Harry. You knew that she was my sister, but you didn’t bother anyway, you just had to be such a stupid fuck up of a husband to miss that tiny detail.” Her words left mouth with anger following up after each sentence.

She realized why she came here after the fly fell into a dried pool of blood. It was the memory that drew her there. The memory of her husband dying on this couch as she pulled the trigger of a Colt .357. The memory of her husband’s brains flying through the back of his skull into the top part of the couch. The face he made when he saw her coming up to him and pointing revolver in his face. Psychopaths say that the moment when they kill someone; that very last moment when victims are about to lose their lives is the moment when the brightest emotions come out; not when they are born or having the time of their lives, but when their life is about to end in seconds. She isn’t the psychopath type, but the moment she was about to pull the trigger was the moment she saw her husbands brightest moment in his life – the confession for his betrayal.

“Harry, you stupid fuck who got what’s coming for you. Perhaps the bullet was too good for you, but for her. She deserved better, but you Harry led her to this. It was hard to shoot her, but who would leave a witness in such a situation. Exactly, no one. I couldn’t risk with it, I’m sorry sis. You left me no choice, you just had to fuck with him.”

A tear slid across her cheek and sorrow squeezed her heart tightly. Losing both of them weren’t accounted on that night, there was suppose to be just him. Her sister told that she will work late on that day, but in the end, she wasn’t. Her sister managed to hid her schedule from her, even though they were coworkers. She showed her sister around when she joined. It wasn’t long when the apprentice overcame the mentor – her.

“This is just stupid. What do I even do here? There’s nothing that will bring them back, nor make me feel better. I was wrong to come here.”  She stood up from the couch. Now that she was standing in front of the couch and continued staring into the couch with its unwashable blood stain, remaining her head lowered. “Definitely stupid.” She gave a last look at the couch and was about to leave when out of a sudden she felt someone behind her.

Cold metal piece touched back of her head. A firm, like an end of the bat or metal police baton. No, it wasn’t bat, nor some cold metal piece… it was a barrel of a gun, pointing at her from behind.

“Good morning Catharine.” It didn’t take much to realize who it was.

“George. Why I’m not surprised to hear from you? Especially like this.” She giggled and began turning slowly.

“Nope, stay where you are. No funny business,” he switched off the safety “Tell me why I shouldn’t blast your brains the same way you blasted my brothers?” his voice got serious after the word brother.

“Because we have a history together George, think about it before you do it.”

“Oh come one Catharine, we both know it was just a fling.”

“Was it?” she turned around, facing eye to eye with him

“Did I let you turn around? On your knees, Catherine, now.”

She chuckled at first but soon saw in his face that he was serious and in the end, he’s the one who holds a gun. Catharine kneeled down on her knees. He pointed the barrel of a gun at her forehead. She didn’t bother to look up at him and continued to look into the ground, babbling under her nose.

“Do what you have to do, but be quick about it.”

“Don’t worry I will. I hope they will remember you, whatever there’s left to care for you. I don’t even know I you’re worth the bullet. Tell me. Are you worth a couple of dollars?” he giggled and her face turned red, anger raised in her.

“Oh fuck you, you fucking shit of excuse for a saint.” George closed his eyes and pulled a trigger.

The sound from a gunshot echoed through the doors to the outside of a house, following up with another one and then the other one. Nearby kids riding on bicycles shocked from the sounds and hauled away. Birds left the windowsills, which barely stood on the windows of a house. One of them fell down when the bird left it, making another sound. After a while, a figure was walking through the main doors of a house. Coming into the end of the door. It was George, stepping outside the house and having a hard time to remain standing up. Slowly, holding his hand on the belly, where blood kept pouring out through. Holding both hands at his belly he couldn’t walk further and collapsed on the porch of a house.

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