"----okay, dear?"763Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5J3HACGk1B
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"Huh?" George said, lifted up his face and saw an old lady in front of him, wearing a blood red dress and eyeglasses of the same color, as if Betty Boop herself grew old and lived in the same town as he. The old woman frowned, yet instead of annoyance, it seemed as though concern filled the expression.
"My, my George. You really are not looking well this minute, are you?" The old woman lifted her hands and let its backside touch George's forehead. "At least you don't have a fever."
"Yes Ann, that I don't." George smiled warmly (something he seemed to be doing a lot this day) and then, "Must be the weather. Its been too hot since this morning."
"Well, you take care of yourself, George, dear.That kid behind you seems too wet behind the ears." The woman said, her red manicured fingers shaking at him with a certain sense of authority.
George grinned and said, "Yes, Madame Ann Shavers." After giving a theatric bow to which Mrs. Shavers smiled, he turned his head to look at the kid, who was sitting like student in detention, suddenly different from the carefree way he sat minutes earlier. The porno mag was also hidden away from sight. And Max flashed him a mischievous grin, which he didn't return until his face was out of the kid's sight. George watched Mrs. Shavers browse the shelves and felt a bit happiness, remembering the days his mother had spent with this old woman.
His mother had been a good mother, or so he thought, besides being a foulmouth and a smartass. He was 15 that time when they arrived in Siera, years after his just now remembered memory actually happened (something he still couldn't fully grasp, but it was there). His mother wasn't his real mother, but how he came to her care, he couldn't remember.
********
27 Years ago,
A boy of 15 stood outside his mother's car, his eyes fixed on the fields beyond the sides of the road. They all look the same, he thought. Grass, in front of me to wherever these fields lead to. He wasn't really a nature person, but considering the current state of his mind, almost everything he comes across becomes an interest to him. He wasn't an amnesiac, but everything seemed a blur. What the fuck even happened yesterday? His mind blurted out, his fist involuntarily clenching. He wanted to ask it to himself out loud, but his mother was squatting a few meters away, a cigarette held between the fingers of her right hand, taking a drag from time to time. Ava Walsh, 43 years old. That was her name. The boy couldn't remember how he met her, and he knew she wasn't his real mother, but that mattered not. One thing was sure though, he loved that woman.
Ava turned her head towards the boy and grinned. The boy just stared back, tried to return the grin but could not. His mind was too full things which were blurry. Everything seemed to want to be remembered, to be relived in his mind, but something was blurring them out. What it was though, he was afraid to find out. 763Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvqGvl3WMA1
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Ava Walsh stood up, took a deep breath, then walked towards her stepson, the wind blowing her auburn hair. As stated, she was 42, but there was something in here beauty that made her look about ten years younger. Looking at her, she'd never pass being older than 35. In fact, her suitors ranged widely from men of 25 years old to 50. But relationship never touched her. She had been single ever since, and had never had a man. Despite that though, she was sure to be a good mother to her son.
The boy ran his hand through his too long hair and lifted his eyes to the heavens. He put his hands in his pockets. 763Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfoZtbSDEff
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"You think too much, kid." Ava Walsh said, then leaned against the car beside his son. 763Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHqFqGSXG6I
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"Maybe. But there's nothing to think about." the boy said, his eyes still fixed on the heavens.
"Nah, I'm pretty sure you're thinking about the Playboy magazine under your seat in the car."
The boy tensed, then trying to sound innocent, asked, "Really? Was there something like that there?"
"Page 4, a blonde wearing almost nothing but black bra and black panties, her hair waving a bit, leans on a tree without leaves. I think her hands looked like they were creeping inside her----"
"Alright, alright. Shit, I never thought you'd find that."
"Language, George," Ava said, grinning widely, then, "You have blurry memories, but you didn't even forget shoplifting magazine like that. Couldn't you just have picked out a Batman comic or something?"
The boy called George laughed, a real one, then said, "I couldn't jack off to Batman, ma."
Ava roared with laughter at that one, smacked George on his right leg and approached the driver's door while saying, "Yeah right. Keep that mag, but don't you dare jack off beside me during the trip, you little shit." Then when she had entered the car, she flicked her cigarette onto the side of the road and shouted, "Wipe that smirk off your ugly face and get in the car."
George was still laughing as he walked around the car and entered via the passenger door, absent-mindedly touching the mag he hid under his seat that morning.
"Where are we going again?" George asked, with a touch of shame in his voice from the fact that he might've been told where but just forgot about it.
Ava Walsh started the engine first before answering. "Siera. A friend of mine lives there. And we already got a place to stay." George nodded at this and shut up for the rest of the ride.
3 hours later, the sun had already made it halfway through its setting phase, painting the heavens a shade of red mixed with orange. This time, they had entered a town, a town that seemed stuck between being old fashioned and modern. They had parked in front of a house, a bungalow that had been designed with the color of coffee, or so as George could describe. A woman roughly the same age of his mom approached them, smiled warmly, and hugged Ava. After the hug, Ava turned to him and said, "George, meet Antoinette Shavers."
The house was already fully furnished, the furnitures also with the same coffee color. It brought a sense of peace to him, and he had actually imagined filling the house with the scent of capucinno. That evening, after unboxing their few boxes, Ava had tasked George with dinner. George might have a blurry memory, but he knew he could cook. Better than Ava, anyways.
Around half an hour later, he had already cooked a hearty Tuscan chicken dinner and was already fixing it on a plate when he had overheard a conversation that bothered him to this day.
"Ann, I guess I'm done bringing him here. Its all up to you. Only when my time comes though." Ava said, with a voice only touched by a bit of shakiness.
"I know you had to, but I had thought earlier that, you know, maybe you should've visited me before bringing him here. Now time is short, dear." This was delivered in a voice on the verge of crying.
"It won't happen till he's 20. So don't fret about it, my friend. Well, just remember that you're not to interfere until he's on THAT day. You'll know. He'll tell you. About your death."
With that, silence entailed. George wanted to walk, but he couldn't. He was frozen in place, and he couldn't move even if he wanted to. He knew that the two women would see him if they just look at his direction. But even without this, Ava called," You scared yet, Georgie? Now learn not to listen to other people's conversation or someday, you might hear something worse. Get in here."
With that, George was filled with relief and had regained the ability to move. He had brought the food to the table and had dinner with the two women.
Five years later, 2 days after his 20th birthday, Ava Walsh had died with no reason. Just failed to wake up.
*****
Antoinette Shavers bought a few cleaning supplies, and despite being somewhat dear to the clerk, Ann knew that something was wrong with George. She didn't strike a conversation with him, instead, she left the store saying "Take care of your self, Georgie, dear."
George hated being called that, (Danny picked the Georgie thing from Ann, actually) but it always sounded so warm when it came from Mrs. Shavers.
Then the moment Antoinette Shavers had left the store, George had once again been engulfed by something he couldn't fathom. His chest tightened. His hand shot up and clutched it, and Max was immediately holding him by the arm, slowly leading him to the chair. Is this how it ends? A heart attack? Really? But it wasn't a heart attack. He was sure of it. It wasn't just his chest, it was actually his whole body, but the pain had concentrated in one point,which is his chest, but the echo of it existed in the entirety of his body. Then suddenly, George screamed Ann's name. To which a reply instantly came.
A loud sound came from outside the store. Despite the pain in his chest, George had gathered enough strength to stand up and run outside. Max was already beside him as he looked on in horror.
Ann lay down in the middle of the road. And there were no witnesses around, but George and Max could hear the sound of a car speeding away, but couldn't see it. It had probably turned at the nearest possible route. 763Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsLLRUDIjuV
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George looked at her, and saw that hwr mouth was moving. He ran and dropped roughly beside her, bent down his head and panted, "It'll be ok Ann, it'll be ok." Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he said it, and followed it with, "Max is already calling this in already." (Which is true, Max was already inside the store, calling for help.) Ann's mouth continued moving. Geirge bent his head down further, now he was sobbing. And he heard Ann said, in a voice that was almost only air, "I-I thought y-you'd tell me a-about m-my death."763Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ95Sz4Cyxo5
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And as she completed her final words, Ann breathed her last.
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George didn't wail. He simply shut his eyes closed, held her close to him and waited for the sirens. 763Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMpxVHIo3y8
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