The Impact

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A man a few years back lost his wife, no one knew how or why. The old man never talked about it so neither did we. I used to wake up around the same time he did every day. Every Tuesdays and Thursdays, just when the sun was right above our heads, he walked. I always wondered where he went, some said he went down to this old creaky, river and sat under this ugly looking fern tree. They said he would just sit there and talk to it for hours a day long. Nobody ever told me what he said, I figured he was a whack job and talked to the dangly tree about his socially deprived life or his dead wife. The old man was weird, very weird. He had no friends, family or manners and his wife was beautiful, if she entered a contest for beauty she would have won every time, but she was socially awkward to. They made a perfect couple. Each time he walked I thought about following him, to get the real truth, I knew I wouldn’t get much probably just some evidence to prove how insane this man was, but I was a destined journalist. A destined explorer, I had as much curiosity as a cat, and as much will power as the richest man in the world. I was totally convinced this “job” was destined for me, destined for a new story to hit the headlines, something that can change the way people thought. I was going to be a Hero. I was a crazy child, the kind of crazy that went around day dreaming and sharing her imagination. I was the crazy girl who thought the bus was getting hijacked and jumped out the emergency exit. I was the insane, weird, smelly kid. Every child at my school thought I was insane, they thought I needed help for wanting to stalk an elderly man. Every day, during recess, I would always get teased and bullied by the toughest kids in school. I didn’t really care though; I was pretty used to it at home. Friday went by, then Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, and finally Tuesday had come. I woke up, brushed my hair and flung into the woods pretending I was superman, getting ready for a mission. I saw him walk from his creaky wood steps and off into the woods. I remember how he scurried across the wet dirt, and into the scary forest like a squirrel scurrying from a car. I kept picturing the old man as if he was some crazy ax murder; I had the vision of him killing his wife over and over in my head like I was some kind of visionary genius. Just the thought of that nearly scared the crap out of me. I swore those visions were so surreal, like a 3 dimensional object. The last thing I remember on that foggy Tuesday afternoon was a long, loud, scream coming from my sweet and innocent mouth, like I was falling into a never ending hole. I never could figure out why I screamed. I guess I had a panic attack, and all the memories from my past were all flowing through my brain on top of the thoughts of stalking a possible “axe murder”. I told my mama and papa everything that happened that day during supper. I knew they weren’t going to believe a single word that came out of my mouth. And I was right, they didn’t believe anything I said, instead they said I have an overactive mind and I needed help. So they handed me over to the family shrink, like I was some kind of piece of trash being thrown into the community garbage dump. The shrink was a totally, crazy, a huge disturbance to my privacy. No matter how tough or weird she was, she sure didn’t stop me from following that man, if anything she made me itch more and more to want to follow him. Suddenly my life became waking up every Tuesday and Thursdays, and stalking that old geyser. This became a tradition and eventually much more. About two weeks into the winter on a Thursday, the day the old man normally goes for his annual “walk”, I heard a glass break coming from his log cabin. I remember my exact thoughts, the thoughts of me hoping he was okay, and the thoughts me hoping he was gone so maybe this stage of my life would be too. I was young, and immature I had no clue on what to do in these cases, so I sat there on my porch watching his cabin like a depressed, heartbroken woman. I sat there for a good three weeks before my mama and papa entered me into a mental hospital. That man was my one and only true friend, he was everything to me,and when I finally had the courage to admit it I knew I had gone insane.





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