Where oh where are you, Dad? You're the only thing that can help me right now. Save me from this madness that I have created; help me stay sane just for a little while. Be my light in the darkness...
"Hey," my father said, hugging me from behind. This was typical behavior of him, and I had always loved it.
"Dad! I'm so sorry..." I said, feeling tempted to cry into his shirt. To him, my apologizing must have seemed foolish, but to me, it was practically a necessity. This entire situation happened because of my impulsiveness. I wanted to never let go of his shirt and to freeze that moment forever.
"What are you apologizing for, Skipper?" he said, brushing my messy hair away from my face. I couldn't remember the last time I had brushed it.
"I mean, I-I just went all-out c-c-crazy, and I d-d-didn't mean to," I said, nearly stammering all over the place. The massive loss in memory was the scariest part about it; I did not know what happened exactly. There's nothing more terrifying than being unsure of something; trust me on that.
"It's not like you controlled it or anything. But I guess you're strangely curious as to what exactly happened. Am I right?" he asked, winking.
Wrong, I controlled it. This is all my fault and could have all been prevented. I'm just a fool...
"Yeah... What exactly did I do?" I asked nervously.
"Well... you were speaking to people that weren't there and in complete gibberish too. I couldn't understand a single thing you were saying, but you seemed terrified while talking to them. You'd stop talking midway through a sentence and walk around the house, knocking everything over and throwing objects around for seemingly no reason. You grabbed some olive oil and started chugging it for some odd reason. You did many bizarre things before your mother noticed you talking to the walls. Of course, she was terrified and took you to the hospital, where you surprisingly talked coherently. I mean, don't you remember doing anything? You even told jokes to the staff," he said, sitting down on my bed. It must not have been very comfortable because he kept shifting every couple of seconds he was sitting on it.
"I'm afraid not; I mean, it was as if I woke up in the hospital. In a way, it's great that I don't remember any of this because it would have been traumatizing to. But enough about me. How are you?" I asked, smiling from ear to ear. I had completely forgotten that I had brought him back to life. It's crazy how sometimes our mind makes us forget such important things as if it's purposely trying to annoy you. My mind is my worst enemy.
"You know, I'm surprisingly good! Check this out, my boss wants to start a robotics company in the future named CONIUM, and he wants me to be the creative director of it!" he said, nearly squealing from excitement like a little girl.
A robotics company? Since when was he interested in robots?
"What in the world is a CONIUM?" I asked, confused out of my mind.
"It actually means nothing; strangely enough, it's an inside joke we had where we came up with the most generic name for a company possible. I mean, doesn't it sound like the most boring name possible? It sounds like some scummy company that dumps waste into rivers!" he said, chuckling like a madman. He was incredibly prone to laughter sometimes.
"You know what? It's pretty funny, I'll admit. It's probably the worst name next to Monsanto. Do you know about them, Dad?" I asked, hoping that he did. My biology class went over them during my Freshman year, and I developed a hatred for the company that I didn't even know I was capable of. The devil himself probably ran Monsanto.
"Oh, yeah, Agent Orange and the like. Luckily, they went out of business two years ago, so there's that."
"Hey... listen, how would you like to name my first robot in the future? Just make sure it's not something stupid like Robby," he said, winking and proceeding to laugh some more like an idiot.
"I have no ideas right now; I'm sorry. Robby, eh? If you ever named me that, I'd disown myself. Say, why did you name me Clive, anyway? Was that just the first thing that came to your mind or what?" I asked, curious. He always promised to explain why I was named Clive but never actually got around to it. It was one of those things that I simply had to know before I died.
"Heh... Clive Bullock was a great friend of mine in high school. He was what you might call the class clown; I miss that guy so much," he said with a quivering lip.
"Did you guys part ways or what?" I asked, worried about his expression. My father never spoke much about his past, so this was a completely novel story for me.
"He died in 1997 of a car accident; poor guy was barely twenty-one at the time. Promise me something, Clive," my father said, nearly holding onto me for comfort.
"What is it?" I asked anxiously.
"Promise me never to take your friends for granted. One day, they might die, and if you didn't talk to them that much, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Sure, I was young and stupid, but this is one of those things that I'll have to live with for the rest of my life. Tell your friends that you miss them and never be afraid to tell them just how much they mean to you. It can change everything..." he said with his voice fading out at the end.
Malcolm! I never found out what happened to him!
"Dad, what happened to Malcolm, if you remember?" I asked with my heart beating at about the speed of light.
I must find out.
"Don't you remember, son?" he asked, looking at me as if I grew another head.
"No?" I replied, confused out of my mind.
Why is he looking at me like I'm crazy? What happened to Malcolm...?
"Son, he killed himself two years ago."
YOU ARE READING
The October Amaryllis
Science FictionClive Andrews is a typical 16-year-old boy who never had anything out of the ordinary happen until May 16th, 2020, when he was struck by several feet of ball lightning and nearly killed. After being discharged from the hospital, he realizes that he...
