Inquisitive: Part 16
By Hassan Izzo
I sighed with relief as I collapsed down onto my bed. God it feels good to be home. I felt mentally exhausted.
“Seven days. It’s incredible. I always knew you’d wake up but….”
I looked over at my best friend, sat as he always was in my swivel chair, swaying from side to side.
“I looked up stuff about people in comas and some people never wake up.” He stopped spinning.
“Well I did wake up didn’t I?”
“Yeah.” He smiled and started swaying again. “So…..did you? Experience anything?”
I sat up and pondered the question. “I don’t know.”
Kevin stopped swaying again. “So something happened?”
It felt unpleasant to do so but I raked over everything I had experienced in my mind, or at least what I could remember as a lot of it had already faded. “I really don’t know.” Kevin was looking at me with a puzzled expression. I shook my head, imagining my thoughts disappearing as I did so. “No. Nothing happened. Whatever happened was just some kind of dream, or my brain working its way back into consciousness.”
“What did you see?”
“Nothing.” An image of an old photograph popped into my head, one of my grandparents together from when they were younger. I smiled. “Nothing that could possibly have been true.”
“But – “
“But nothing. I’m back; I’m alive, I’m here and I just want things to go back to normal.”
Kevin relented and smiled. “OK, sounds good to me. I’m glad your back.”
“I’m glad to be back.” I looked at my closed curtains and lifted myself up from my bed. “Have my curtains been closed this whole time?”
“Your mum and dad didn’t like coming in here. It made them feel weird and think bad things like what if you never, you know.”
I nodded and positioned myself in front of the curtains ceremoniously. “I hereby declare, normality.”
“Amen to that.”
I opened them with a flourish. I turned and looked out of the window, taking in the view that I had seen a thousand times before but had never appreciated as much: my street. I intended to take it all in, sweeping my gaze from left to right. As I got to the middle of the street I stopped. Right across the road there was a bench, and on that bench at that very moment sat my grandmother. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, but she was still there. As I watched her I silently told myself that I must be seeing things, only for her to look right up at me. I gasped.
I was too transfixed by the sight of my grandmother to answer. My horror was compounded when I saw her eyes turn black and soulless, just as they had done before. I knew now that the whole ordeal had been real and what fate lay before me. As I continued to look at my grandmother she started to laugh, and my blood froze.
Like any other writer, Hassan Antonio Izzo is happiest when he is sat at his desk putting words down on paper; whether it be updating his blog, working on a short story, script, poetry, journalism, or wrestling with his first novel. If anything stands a chance of getting him away from his desk, a few drinks with friends would stand a good one. His biggest claim to fame is that Quentin Tarantino loved his Mr T t-shirt when he met him; which was pretty cool.
A proud South Londoner, you can follow on Twitter @Hassanizzo86