Human Masquerade

My nanowrimo 2012.
Johan Linde is getting sick and tired of his mother. The only escape he has is found in a patient from his mothers hospital. A girl he have never meet in real life, but whos voice he knows better than he own.

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4. The High Priestess

Chapter 2. – The High Priestess

Johan Linde

 

This dreams being is my light.

She is an endless source of wisdom.

She has taught me everything I know and understand.

 

The school day is too long. I get all relived when I finally can see the building which makes it for my home.

                      I live in a two part manor house. The lot is huge, so mother has split it in two. One half of it is reserved to mothers work. Although it is a part of Linde Children Hospital for mental disturbed kids, and right next to we live. My mother and I alone. The only thing separating the two buildings is a railing of steel, which splits the stairs up to the front door in two.

The front door, which had been a double door, had had a divider in between. Problem solved.

                      I’ve never seen the inside of Linde Hospital. My life, and home, is a complete different place.

                      The lot also has a big amount of acreage outside which mother has been building on. Big amount of the surrounding lot has turned into houses to the hospitals staff, but also other buildings which connect our lot to the nearby city. Although a lot of the buildings are new but still held in an old German style. Brickwork and cobblestones for the win.

                      Outside the house I dumb my bike before I run inside. I throw my bag and school tie in the corner of the hall before I continue through the house. Into the living room, I open the terrace door and hurry out. Down the stair and down into the garden.

                      The clock approaching three only a few minutes left. The afternoon sun colors the sky white and the leaves on the trees reddish. Withered leaves crunch under my feet while I jog past the rose bushes.

                      The garden is the only part of my home which I really care about. No one except me and the gardener come her. The gardener keeps an ‘appropriate’ distance the way it’s correct among our servants.

                      Our garden is behind the actual main building with the small servant houses as walls. Actually the garden was a little piece of nature shut in between bricks and metal railing from the side, from above the tall trees. Like that the garden lay remote from our apartment with the tall trees to cover view from the house completely.

                      Through the garden a single path runs. The path goes from end to other and crisscross in a confusing pattern. The garden consists of the path and the many trees. There is no fountain or sunny spaces. It is a garden covered by shadow with a simple bench places at the darkest spot.

                      The bench is made by stones and stays swallowed in the big beech, which splits the garden in two. One side to the resident of the house, and the other side to mothers patients at the hospital.

                      The hospital side should, it says, be sunnier as a sign for hope and happiness. Only my attempts has kept mother from cutting down the trees on our side of the garden. I love the side with its shadows; it is as if it keeps secrets which I have to solve. Alone. It’s a place ooze of pure melancholy.

 

I reach the bench just as the church bells strike three. I settle myself on the bench; I flip the withered leaves away and stars speaking out loud. There is no one in the vicinity. Only the birds above my head that from time to other says something.

                      “I don’t know how I’m ever going to explain myself. I feel like a stranger. Not just in my own home, but all the time. Everywhere. That’s why I’m so grateful to have you.” I say. Above my head the birds still sings and around me the dead leaves rustle.

                      I’m surrounded by beauty but it can’t give any response. I sit in the ominous silence for a moment before the answer arrives. The tiny voice answers me like a distant memory. A whisperer which reminds me so deeply about summer that I practically can smell the sun and the green leaves.

                      “I will probably never understand your world, but I will love to try, for you. My friend.”

                      I breathe deeply in. Oh, how I love tis voice. I wish it never change or disappear for me.

                      “Explain you, Johan,” says the voice.

                      “Mother came home today. And then…”

                      “Yeah, I noticed it. Everything has driven at full throttle.”

                      “She is so happy. He meeting went well. Everything is set.”

                      “It’s good, but it doesn’t make you happy?”

                      “No, because it’s… It is her dream alone.”

                      “You want your own.” The voice says.

                      I’m nodding even though I know she can’t see me. She understand me so well, this nameless girl. I’ve never met her but just a half year after mother opened the hospital we spoke for the first time. Back then it was summer and I made homework in the shadow. She appeared at the other side of the hedge and heard my frustrations over my homework. She helped me and since then we started to talk. We made a regular habit. We met and talked as often as possible. She is the reason why I hate winter. The only time of year where we can’t meet over a long time because of the cold.

                      “Say something more tell me about life. I would really like to her mere.”

                      “Heh. About homework and stressing assignments?

                      “Yes, yes! Also that! I want to know it all! Everything!”

                      “Mother wants me to study psychology but I got her diverted her to university.”

                      “An education on a higher level can never hurt…”

                      Her voice sounded unsure but she didn’t say more. I smiled bitter foo myself.

                      “Do you remember when I told you about my dad?”

                      “Ah yeah. He disappeared when your mother tried to hospitalize him. The official explanation is that he is a psychoses she thought was…”

                      “You remember well. It’s completely correct. He thought he was a magician. Could practice magic and fight and evil clan of magicians.”

                      “What’s with him?”

                      “He played music.”

                      A secret which I’ve never really have spoken about. As everybody else I miss and admirer my dad but I also believe in him. Of course magic exist, even though my mother has spent so much time to say the opposite. My dad loved music! He could sit for ever with his instruments or fondle with creased paper with song lyrics. For me that passion would forever be magic.

                      “Do you play music?” Her voice sounded gentler than before?

                      We never speak about something too personal. I never really say who I’m son of. I could be any member of the staff’s son. She never tells me what she erred. Actually I’ve never had the feeling that anything was wrong with my mysterious voice. She was just there. Maybe more voice than body.

                      “I can play, but I only play classic. Mother says the other music is nonsensical and just is too noisy.”

                      “It doesn’t seem like you to give in for her opinion without a fight.”

                      “Which I haven’t. Okay, maybe, I haven’t told her but I play guitar and sing. Well, with Fabian. We have like a little business going on. Have I mentioned it before?”

                      Her laughter is filled with real sweetness which made my cheeks blush. I can’t even imagine her looking, but the voice was beautiful and clean.

                      “That’s the Johan who I know and love. You have to play for me one day. Actually, it can be we’ll soon get the opportunity.”

                      I sad straight up and prick up my ears. It was a rare thing something happened in her life. Everything was white coats and examinations. Everything happened behind closed doors or the big beech.

                      “Oh, why? Is anything happening soon?” Again a little laughter followed my question.

                      “It’s soon my 18 year old birthday and then, for once and all; I can leave this godforsaken place.”

                      I’m laughing.

                      “That’s good new! Let’s run away together!” I say and laugh with her. That’s why I love the garden. It keeps my secrets no matter how dirty they might be.

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