silens-silentium

“I’m on the floor,
Counting one minute more
No one to break the silence
Staring into the night
All alone but that’s alright
It’s the feeling, deep inside
I don’t like…”

I leaned against the cold, hard metal railings of the balcony, as I gaze down, admiring the scenic surroundings that formed part of my estate.  Palm trees, which dotted the landscape, gently swayed to the cool, refreshing breeze.   the highlight of the etate, as my friends would put it, was the swimming pool.  Measuring 300m by 200m, the irregularly shaped pool was simply an architectural masterpiece, especially at night.  The interior lighting of the pool, bright, yet subtle, added a soft, warm glow to the surroundings.  the place simply exuded a peaceful, tranquil feeling.

I sighed, absently fingering the immaculately-white envelope as I took a gulp from the wine bottle.  My mind was in a whirl of confusion and doubt, in direct contrast to the peaceful, serene surroundings.  it was past midnight now.  Where was Cheryl?  Lately she had been coming home very late.  I was worried for her safety.  Or was it just about her safety?

I married Cheryl, much to the chagrin and disapproval of my parents, when I was 35.  Cheryl was only 26 then,  They had warned me that the age (and possibly generation) gap  was too big, and that it would create alot of problems after marriage.  Not that Cheryl wasn’t a nice girl.  With long, shiny black locks of hair, a slim and tanned body, with a cute face and dimpled smile, she was simply the girl of my dreams. Furthermore, she was ever friendly, polite, caring, and always thoughtful of others, a rare trait seldom seen in today’s society.  If not for the huge age gap, my parents had once remarked, she would have made the perfect daughter-in-law.

However, despite such odds, we had lived in total bliss and happiness for almost 5 years, and were always the subject of envy with all our friends and associates.  However, once out of earshots, the gossip would begin.  Often, I had overheard remarks like “Oh, its all for show, they won’t last much longer”, “So young and pretty, yet married to such an old man.  I bet she has a lover somewhere, and is just waiting for him to die so that she can inherit his money.”  I had previously dismissed such snide remarks as pure jealousy.  Until now.

For the past few months, she had been coming home late for no apparent reason.  Even though she was a psychologist, and often had to stay back in office after working hours to go through and update the records of her patients, she would usually be back by ten in the evening, or phone me to fetch her home.  However, lately she had stopped doing so, and even sounded evasive when I casually asked where she had been to.

Then I received that letter.

When I checked the mailbox at the gate in the evening, I found a handwritten letter addressed to Cheryl.  It was scented, and reminded me of a new perfume being marketedm which was targeted at couples, called “Loverbirds”.  Alarm bells started ringing in my head.  Something was definitely not right.  Not knowing what to do with the letter, I had sat down here at the balcony, pondering over and over again, not wanting to accept that possibility, deciding whether or not I should open the letter.

I drained the last bit of the now-bitter tasting wine from the bottle, and heaved a huge sigh.  True, I admitted I had often been too busy, and a hectic work schedule, which was made worse with recent recession, had often limited the amount of time we spent together.  Yet those times that we spent together, weren’t they happy moments?  Had I not given her the best clothings and all the moral support to do whatever she wanted?  Was that still not enough?  I ran a hand through my dishevelled hair.  Yes, I definitely had to confront her tonight.

“There is no excuse my friend
For breaking my heart
Breaking my heart again
This is where our journey ends
You’re breaking my heart again”

“Ding-dong.” The doorbell rang.  Holding the now empty wine bottle, in one hand, and hurriedly squeezing the letter into my pocket with the other, I staggered to the door, and with great effort, finally unlocked and opened the heavy oak door.

“Hi darling,” were her first words, as she strolled, no skipped, almost happily (and radiantly) past me, oblivious to my half-drunken stupor.  Putting down her heavy fur coat and leather handbag on the glass table, she kissed me, nonchalantly and almost perfunctorily on my cheek.

“Oh goodness, you’ve been drinking again?”  She remarked, wrinkling her nose at the odour.  “Are there any letters for me?”  Sha added disdainfully.  Her eyes, however, betrayed her, and searched the room eagerly.  I certainly knew now that it was true.  Those rumours were true.  Enough was enough….

“Letter!  WHAT LETTER!  I bet it’s from your lover right! Coming home so late every night, you think your husband is a sucker?”  I yelled, slapping her across her cheek.  Shocked, and with tears running down her cheek, she sobbed, “No, that’s not true Jacob, trust me.  I’ve always love you….”

“Then where have you been?  ANSWER ME!”

“I… I…” she stammered, but did not speak further.  That whore, she still could lie like this.  Bellowing, I grabbed her by the arms and shook her, hoping in some way, that I could shake the truth from her.  She struggled, and tried to push me away, which only enraged me further.  Without thinking, I swung my left hand at her, dimly recalling that the wine bottle that I was carrying had smashed into the side of her head.  Clutching her head, and still sobbing, she staggered, lost her balance, and crashed through the glass table behind her, landing awkwardly on the floor, motionless.

I leaned against the wall for support, gasping for breath, as my head whirred, and my heart pounding heavily.  I had awakened from my drunken fit of stupor, at looked in stunned silence at Cheryl, not believing what had happened.  I approached her slowly, and checked for any trace of breath.  There was none.  She was dead.  I drew back, still trying to convince myself that what I had done was correct.  It was just an accident, I tried consoling myself.  In any case, she had betrayed me first.  I know it, the letter can prove it.  The letter!

I fished out the now crumpled letter from my pocket and tore open the envelope.  A slip of paper fell out of the envelope.  Disregarding that, with fingers trembling, I read the letter, written in a familar fashion:

“Dearest Cheryl,

 Thank you so much for helping me to tide over this difficult period, and keeping this secret from your husband.  I certainly hope my old adversary would not hold it against you for helping me.  By the time you have read this letter, My wife and I would have been on plane to Europe to enjoy our second “honeymoon” to celebrate our reconciliation.  When I first came to you for help, our marriage was on the rocks, and the first person on my mind was you.  I was really envious of the blissful marriage you and your husband enjoyed, and thought that maybe, just maybe, you could teach me some tricks to put my marriage back on track.  However, not only did you put it back on track, you even spent hours in the evenings spent talking to both my wife and I, counselling us, mediating between us.  I was really touched by this gesture.

I know you would not have accepted my my cheque of thanks, as such, I have mailed you another cheque instead.  Thnak you once again, and I wish you and your husband continued bliss.

Yours always,
Joseph”

I flung away the letter in abject horror.  No, it could not be true.  I shook my head, as I bent down to pick up the slip of paper.  It was a blank cheque, addressed to Cheryl, and indeed from Joseph.

A thousand needles pierced my heart then, as I realised the heinous deed I had done.  I collapsed to the floor, sobbing disconsolately, as I cradled her now-cold body by my side.

All was lost… I could never redeem myself, try what I may.

A word on this essay.  I first wrote the finished edition in Secondary 4 for an essay assignment.  Made minor tweaks to the ending to make it gel together better.  Was quite surprising that in my essays in secondary school, I kept using the name Cheryl as my partner.  I can count at least 2 other essays where Cheryl was used too.  Weird.

Lastly, any thoughts/critiques?  From what I heard, its dorama standard, and not really good for manga/anime, so… I should write for dramas instead.  Oh well.  I’d like to hear your views.