#5 in Mystery/Thriller on 10/2
❝You have no idea about how dangerous I am, who I am and what I did. I prefer it that way. I am the designer of my own catastrophe, I am my own villain and own destruction. Don't acquaint yourself with me, you will r...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❝Vonnegut could not help looking back, despite the danger of being turned metaphorically into a pillar of salt, into an emblem of the death that comes to those who cannot let go of the past.❞
―Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut.
♚
Dorian woke up from his deep slumber to find that he was shivering and his duvet was lying on the floor. He sat up on his bed and saw that he had left the sliding-glass door of his balcony open and the cold breeze rushed inside, mixed with white crystal particles that were settling on his carpeted floor.
The first snow of winter. Hello to one of the coldest days.
Dorian sighed and raked a hand through his dark hair. He stood up and wore his silk robe and slippers, made his way towards his balcony and closed the glass door behind him as his eyes gazed at the blue cloth draping the sky with white freckles of snow falling down on the land.
Even from there, standing on the marbled floor and leaning against the metal railings, Dorian could see the far away forest blanketed with white, every blade of grass, every intricacy of twig, clad with the radiating snow.
The skate-board arena with a sheltered roof, built purposely for Dorian, was stretched on the vast white-land on the grounds of Ash Mansion. It looked plain as there was no graffiti yet it was extraordinary because it was private, very large and had a variety of skate-boarding ramps constructed by expert and mastered architects.
Dorian liked to skateboard for recreational purposes. He had been doing this since he was eight years old. After a few minutes of watching the beauty of nature and committing this memory to his mind, Dorian went into his en-suite and showered then changed into warm clothes.
He walked inside the dining room and was surprised to find his father already seated at the head of the table working on his tablet. He wore a crisp-white shirt, pants and his blazer was draped over his chair, indicating that he got back from work early.
He greeted his father quietly and sat on the right side of him. Dorian was concentrating more on his lunch than the cold-tension in the air when his father, Romeo, cleared his throat to gain his attention. Dorian looked into his father's sharp blue eyes as uneasiness pressed on his heart.
And then it began again.
"Good evening, Dorian Ash. You slept through the whole day. Is your health okay?" Romeo asked in his rough voice.
"Yes, it is fine, father." Dorian said unemotionally.
"Is there any problem?" Romeo asked him in a flat voice, still not looking at him.
Yes. Your uncaring voice. "No,"
"Tomorrow is Christmas. Do you want anything?" Romeo asked as he worked on his tablet.
