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Death's Dust: The Talisman From Mom |
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Death’s Dust
The Talisman from Mom
By Jenny Phoutthavong
I sat there, alone in the rigid mansion, wrapped in sleek, plush throws and blankets. The bitter winds of winter pierced through the cozy wraps like ice. Sir Paul, my illustrious father, went out to gather firewood for the fireplace. I sent out the liege servants for their long vacation. I, the young lady Maya Tosahiba, was home alone with only my cat companions, KiKi and Tenacio. “Where is he?” I queried. I rested my slender hands on the fresh cut furniture. I felt a mild aura of the sawdust, still clinging to it, feeling the way the trees was coldly cut down. A shiver ran down my spine.
My mother, Madam Clarisse, has recently breathed one’s last five years ago. I could remember her, lying deceased and lifeless in the Finnow Cullnin Museum, as though the grim reaper has taken her soul and replaced it into the grave. I didn’t want to know that she was pushing up daisies. Blood was doused on the walls and her body showed no visible cuts. The investigators found no clues or evidence to see how or when she was murdered, but they did see why. On one wall, marked in my mother’s blood, said, “Give me the talisman.” I think he was talking about the talisman dangling around my neck.
Before Clarisse’s anima was taken away, she gave me the talisman heirloom. It was mainly made of pearl and ever the luminous cat’s-eye. Marked on the back was “magic” in a Japanese symbol. It was said to have special powers passed down from our ancestors, the Runeharts, to whoever was passed down and trusted to. It was made to protect the world from harm made by mythical enchantments. It will reflect the world’s fate with the cat’s-eye gem if taken into the wrong hands. My grandmother has said all those words, for her fairy tales raised me halfway through my life. So believed I in half of the superstitious sorceries.
The door swung open, uncovering my father and his wagonload of firewood. He held in the other hand a small, velvet and silk pouch embellished and tied with thin ribbons. He deliberately threw it at me, and I stumbled to clutch the item into my hands. My fingers tangled to undo the closure on the pouch. The atmosphere changed quickly, a familiar feeling nearby. Inside, I saw finely pulverized, powdered dust. It would be nothing if the aura hasn’t been there, because I knew now it was my mother’s dust.
Tears rolled down my eyes, and I tightly grasped the pouch. “I miss her so much!” I managed to utter. I miss the way she consoles me, I miss playing with her long, sable hair, the way her green eye brings merriment into the room, and the happiness we thought would be lingering today! That wish is forever gone, our hopes have faded away into our dreams, and my heart felt fragile and diluted with grim memories.
The room turned cold, and the dust was circling the now empty pouch in a strange formation. A powdery face emerged on my hand, Mom? “Maya, my chichi, what has become of you precious? What are your troubles?” requested Clarisse. “ Mom, what happened to you at the museum? What happened?” I cried, surprised to find myself talking to my dead mom. “Never mind that. Maya, you are in grave peril! Escape while you still can!” and with that said, she dispersed from the pouch. I tightened the drawstring and fastened it around my waist.
The room was mute, silent as the cemetery nights, something or someone was quite uptight, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Sir Paul has departed without notice, and not a sound could be heard within the distance.
The door busted open with a sickening crack and in my view was an atrocious man, three fingers in his right hand, trickling with his foul smell of blood. He was bloodthirsty, for he held in his left hand, a chainsaw covered in gore.
“It’s time for you to cross the bar! Welcome to the infernal regions, my young lady, for Pluto wants to meet you and your little talisman…” He slashed the lethal chainsaw to where I stood…
 Mokochocolatte · Sat Dec 01, 2007 @ 12:11am · 0 Comments |
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