If They Knew by Arti Manani

Author:Arti Manani [Arti Manani]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elephanda Publishing
Published: 2023-08-16T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-THREE

Coincidences. Is anything ever a coincidence? I wonder as I lay sprawled across my sofa. My arms and legs hang limp as though they’re non-existent like a daffodil in December, and the only sign of humanity in here is the scent of coffee lingering through the air like potpourri, bringing freshness to the room despite being dead.

Coincidences. I wonder again as I trace my fingers along my laptop keyboard. I know I should sleep, but bringing up my past to someone I know nothing about seems too surreal, and the way he left, like he’s hiding something, makes me want to learn his secret too.

N O R M. I tap each key slowly, quietly as though it’s a secret that I’m doing it. A N. I continue. P O R T E R.

‘Coincidences,’ I whisper as I glare at his name in the Google search box. My finger hovers over the ‘enter’ key and I wait for the silent countdown in my mind to reach zero.

Five. There’s no going back from this, I think as I imagine the search engine revealing secrets unknown to me, destroying anything positive I’ve ever known about Norman. Four. But something is off about him, I know that for sure. My finger moves closer to the key as though I’m about to launch a missile into my home. Three. ‘What if it’s you?’ I whisper. No gifts, no messages. Two. Every time I’m with you, I get nothing. I’m touching the key now. I can feel the heat beneath my fingertip as though it’s burning through my identity. Nothing proves that it’s not you. One.

I glance over my laptop and towards the trees as they stand outside, watching me like guarded soldiers. Zero.

‘Coincidences,’ I whisper. ‘Is anything ever a coincidence?’ I launch the missile. Aim the gun. Pull the trigger. Whatever it is that I did, I did it and there is no going back.

The ticking of the clock sings loud, echoing across the room as though it’s empty. The small hairs on my arms and neck stand tall as regret and nervousness sit on the tip of my index finger. Shadows from the trees outside welcome their way into the room, peering over my laptop to see what’s on my screen. But my eyes remain towards the garden, fixated on the trees as their shadows reach out to me.

I stand, and walk away from the contents Google has presented me. I walk closer towards the trees. The moonlight has sprinkled silver dust over my garden and each blade of grass, each leaf of the evergreen trees, glitter like diamonds.

‘Am I crazy?’ I ask as I glare at their peaks, half blanketed over with darkness as they hide in the shadows of my fence. I sigh, waiting for an answer, but the trees refuse to respond.

My laptop’s engine hums fiercely behind me as though it’s overheating and it forces me to turn back towards the sofa.

I plant myself on the sofa. My screen is filled with search items for a man named Norman Porter.

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