Creepy by Sami S. Khalil
Something is amiss about my guilty pleasures; they
could be slightly perverse. We all have our penchant for something; hidden or
pronounced. But, to our common defense, many turgid interests are not hallmarking
of deadness.
As an OB writer(obituary), I relished subliminally the diseased
stories in their flairs of reinvention, the shedding of sharper light at the
rosy-hued qualities they possessed, seeing clearly above the distractions,
beyond the imperfections. My obituary writings (sometimes in a poetic form)
were poised between life and death.
How can we embrace life fully while outfacing death?
For we can’t fully control how our lives will be turning out or envisage their
death outcome!
In my short scripts of their legacies, I drew upon
facts and my emotional reservoir. I much praised the subject and as for the
setting, I was peripatetic; a plucky mortal.
As a result, I had two of my dead clients haunt me and
my house in bizarre and morbid ways for they thought (even though dead) that my
obituaries did not do them justice or were not flowery enough. Matters
continued to worsen, hauntingly prescient, most indelibly eccentric.
In the muddle, I could not withhold my suppressed emotions
with any enduring popularity. I became snappier at cracking those puzzles. On
one occasion, when few days passed, while I was visiting the home of the newly
widowed wife of said individual (he committed suicide), the trail to her farmhouse
was long, I felt a rampage of some rocks being thrown at me (I remembered he
was a Rockhound of sorts). It dawned on me that I was the bullseye to his
wrath.
Another time, as I called Alexa in my house, a strange
weeping and wailing sound blared. I had no clue to parry or ward off. I thought
to blame technologies that can be venial, especially if they were bought at a
bargain price but this phenomenon kept intruding, proffering anxiety beyond
comparison…Creepy indeed.
I skittered back to writing wedding poetry with healthy
doses of crowing!
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