Hell Hotel

I have always wanted to tell my story to my friends, but I find it very difficult to say the words that I am about to write down to them. I do not want to disturb them with the things that I went through. I do not want to trouble them with my concerns. I do not want to appear to be paranoid about the world. In fact, I hope that I do not have to tell them my story. I hope that I can talk about the weather, the blue sky, the white cloud, the green grass, and the freedom of being human. I wish that I can tell them a story with a happy ending, with healthy people, and with cheerful statements and encouraging motto. I wish that I can talk about my hair, my clothes, my boyfriend, my car, and the teachers I don't like from school.
However, life is like that. It is not always cheerful. We are not always healthy. Not all stories ends with prince and princess living happily ever after. Just like you will not encounter good weather everyday. Sometimes, it may rain. Sometimes, sun may shine. Sometimes, a storm is brewing. You never know what you are going to get.
I am just like everybody else in this world, at least I hope I am. My parents are respectable enough. From a young age, I have been taught to obey what my parents and teachers and never question their authority. I couldn't be more wrong.
Spring is here again. Each time when it rains, more flowers are coming out of the ground. Daffodils are blooming again, plum tree has new leaves, and the white petals are swinging slowly in the gentle wind. I truly hope that my problems will go away, but they are like my best friend who keeps calling in the evening, and continue the discussion in the classroom, while I am walking down the stairs, and when I am washing my hands. It follows me when the evening falls, when I open the lock on my door, when I close my window for the night, and falls on the soft bed. My problem just wouldn't go away.
I know it is inevitable that my problem will catch up with me. I have known of its existence for some time now, but I can't tell my friends. They will just laugh. They will think that I made it up.
People on the street don't know that I have this problem, and I am glad that they don't. Ignorance is a bliss.
A boy is licking a giant raspberry ice cream when I walk home today. I can't help but look twice at him. There is something about him that I cannot say. I cannot yet grasp its meaning by the first look, but I totally understand what is going to happen when I look at him for the second time. I don't think I can tell him anything. I am afraid that I might scare him. What he doesn't know is that he is going to die tonight.
I really hope that I can warn him, but I can't. He is not the only one who is going to die tonight. The lady who is smoking a cigarette across the street is also going to leave this world forever. She just doesn't know it.
I stop in front of the kid and smile at him. His mother drags him away from me quickly as if I am some kind of disease. I have totally forgotten what I am wearing right now.
I am still in my school uniform. I come from a public school where parents who are not in the highest social calibre send their kids to study. My classmates are not the brightest, but they are not the dumbest, either. The mother must have thought I am some kid of troubled teenager, waiting to pounce on her kid.
In fact, it is not I who pounce on her kid. She cannot see it coming. I don't think I will be able to help her, either.
My bag is still full of school books and class notes. Opening my bag, I take out the dark envelope that I received that day in class. My name, printed in white loopy letters, is sitting on top of the dark envelope that bears no other signs. The envelope is still unopened.
"Mum, I am back."
My mother is standing behind the ice cream counter, still holding the scoop. She dips it in clean water and wipes it when the aroma of raspberry spreads in the atmosphere. I love that smell.
"How are you?"
"I am good. I am going up to do my homework now."
"Good. Dinner will be ready at 5."
My bag lands beside my bed. The paper of the envelope is thick and formal. I hope this is not another bad news.
Drew Tole
Please come to Hell Hotel to meet Mr. Black at 9 p.m. this evening.