“Huh?” I looked at the house smothered in a new color: yellow.
“Don’t tell this to anyone.” My aunt looked at me from the corner of her eye.
I was still half-awake, half-asleep. I rubbed my eyes and couldn’t imagine who could’ve done this to my home, especially at two o’clock in the morning. I was filled with anger and hate as I saw some of the yellow drip onto the cement floor of my driveway. I stepped on white shells that cracked underneath my feet like bones. I was disgusted by the thought of people doing such a thing.
Why egg my house?
I walked inside the house as my brother came out with some soap and gloves. We switched glances. “How many?”
My brother stopped in the middle of the threshold of the front door. “How many of what?” He looked as tired as I was. We had to get up early to clean up the mess, which was never supposed to have been created.
“Ponies,” I said sarcastically. “How many eggs are there on the house, Varen? Duh.”
“At least fifteen are on the house and maybe six are on our cars.” I started walking away to get some breakfast. My feet felt heavy against the wooden floor. I felt heavy with thoughts, memories, and suspects. I heard the water from the hose spray the walls of the house.
“Second time this month,” I said to myself. “Who in the hell hates us? Who in the hell hates me?”
My brother pops into the kitchen, “I think it was just someone random. Some punk ass kids or something,” he snatched more soap from the kitchen cabinet.
“Don’t go looking for wolves among sheep, eh?” I told him.
“Basically,” he slammed the door to the kitchen cabinet and went back outside.
I poured my cereal and thought of all the grudges I held, all the fights I’ve had, and all the hate I’ve collected over the eighteen years of my life. I stared at my milky reflection in the cereal bowl.
What did I see?
I saw the darkest moments in the whitest waters.
I saw fists thrown, trying to escape the waters they were trapped in. They tried reaching for my neck, for my face, for me. I saw the coldest of goodbyes. The darkest, bloodshot eyes. Arguments in alleyways. Backstabbing. Friends becoming enemies. Backs turned. Yelling. Screaming. People hiding in corners.
I poured the rest of the milk down the drain. I couldn’t stand looking at it any longer. The darkness of my life. Then, I remembered something I read last night in a book, “We were put on this earth for a reason. We were put here to experience happiness. Remember the happy things. Don’t focus on the hate in this world.” It was something along those lines.
I remembered that I twisted and turned in the heat of the summer night in white sheets. I heard laughter. A chuckle and something hitting my wall. I dismissed it though. It had to be them. It had to be those kids, who threw the eggs at the house.
A hand woke me up and back to reality. “Vatche?” It was Clara, my aunt.
“Huh?” I stared at her eyes that have probably seen worse than this. She lived in the time of the Revolution in
“Are you okay, Vatche?”
“I’m fine. I’m just— frustrated.” I noticed the yolk on her clothing. The slime that covered the towels in her hand. The color of hate wasn’t red, but yellow.
“It’s okay.” She walked off without another word. I saw the anger in her face, as well. We were victims of some prank. I saw the darkness not only in the random act of throwing eggs, but also in myself.
“You shouldn’t think about it too much.” My brother smiled as he walked into the house. “So what? Some kids threw eggs at our house. There’s worse that could’ve happened. There was no shooting, no one died, nothing happened. So, we have a mess on some of our walls. Big. Freakin’. Deal.”
“I guess, you’re right.” I took the towels in his hands and threw them into the washing machine.
“Finally,” my brother flipped the switch, “you understand.”
The towels twirled. My eyes fixated on the water rising, the bubbles foaming, and the darkness in the water disappearing. Everyone has darkness in his/her past. It’s what makes us human. We don’t only live on successes, but also failures. Failures in friendships, relationships, tests, obstacles, and everything really. The only thing I have to do is fix all those failures. Someway. Somehow.
The water swished.
“Are you coming to wash down your car or what?” My brother called out.
“I’m coming.” I put on my shoes and ran.
“Screw the darkness.” I whispered underneath my breath.
How about you, dear reader? Have you experienced pranks on your home? What's your opinion on the darkness in human hearts? Do you ever 'forgive and forget' or do you tend to focus on past mistakes?