Mercy
I thought back to my earliest recollections of Mercy. They stuck like damp clothes, vivid to say the least. The passage of time had made our encounter seem no less extraordinary to me. In all honesty I really didn’t know how to describe what occurred. It just was what it was.
Dwarfed by the reading chair, I took in another picture book, once again seated in a corner by myself. You can imagine my surprise when my thoughts were interrupted all of a sudden. “You like people in books so much. Why do you never interact with real people?”
No one had spoken to me in that way before. The aggressive tone of the words made this voice, so uncannily like my own, sound nothing like mine at the same time.
“Wanna play?” This time it wasn’t so harsh, more playfully curious.
“Sure”, I said aloud, looking nowhere in particular. A quick glance around the room showed no one close enough to be conversing with me, so my first reaction was to clamp my hand over my mouth, as if I’d said something I shouldn’t. Technically I had.
“Hey stupid, I’m talking to you!” she persisted.
‘But you’re in my head’, I thought, ‘so actually you’re not.’ This made no sense and it obviously scared me. Everyone knows voices are a bad sign.
'Can we get one thing straight? I am just as real as you are’, she defended. ‘By the way I’m Mercy’, she added, as an afterthought.
Mercy sniggered. ‘You were so freaked’, she teased, knowing full well she was right.
Sifting back through memories, I tried to find an equally startling event. As it happened something did come to mind. I hadn’t thought of it in a while but nothing else came close.
I stepped inside as the door slammed behind me. I jumped at the noise, feeling sure I hadn't meant to slam the door. Today Mercy was seething with boiling, overwhelming rage which ricocheted in my brain like a bullet. My cheeks burned hotter the more annoyed she got. The metaphorical bullet gained momentum and shot to and fro with increasing speed, its feverish pace winding up tension until BANG!
Seconds after the mental jolt, once I was thinking clearly again, I began to think up a course of action. I concentrated on breathing deeply and trying to calm myself but, out of the blue, everything came into laser focus. Now I realised that I had lost all sensation right down to my toes; I reached out and felt nothing at all. It was like all the nerves and connections in my body had ceased functioning. Like being in the passenger seat of a car, I was aware of my surroundings, just not in control. A moment passed for it to click, all the anger Mercy had built up had overpowered me and propelled her to the fore.
Uh oh! I began panicking as Mercy made her way towards the living room, conviction in every step she took with my feet. I flinched as she stormed into the living room, intent on taking it all out on something. Her eyes flew to the Christmas tree in the corner, merrily lighting up the salmon pink wallpaper.
‘What are you doing? Calm down’, I pleaded as a tone of urgency entered my voice. ‘This doesn’t just have consequences for you.’ Mercy couldn’t be reasoned with.
‘Don’t care’, she huffed as she climbed upon the sofa. Before I knew what she was doing it was too late, and with an almighty shove the tree toppled. Trying not to look didn’t keep out the clamour of jangling bells and shattering glass decorations that resounded as the tree hit the ground. Promptly the stairs began creaking, signifying footfalls and the presence of my mother.
"Layla? What in the world?” she began as she rounded the corner. She was just as speechless as I was, dumbfounded by the utter carnage before her.
Satisfied, Mercy let go of her ire with a sigh and settled back to a slightly more sedate condition. With her self-control restored, I was able to regain mine soon enough but still had to tentatively wiggle my fingers just to be sure. That was enough for now.
Since then I had been a bit more mindful, not wanting a repeat of the Christmas tree incident. It was official; Mercy was more than just a voice.
‘And, Layla’, she remarked, ‘don't you forget it'
‘Well, I didn’t know that was possible with you reading my every thought’, I retorted indignantly, for if Mercy was anything she was irritating. I wouldn’t forget that.
The situation reminded me of the overlap between radio stations, when the frequencies get too close. You know; static and white noise dipping in and out as the signals run over each other. Just generally unpleasant to the ear. Whenever Mercy spoke the frequency got interrupted and distorted until all that could be heard was us speaking over each other. This unsurprisingly meant nothing got through.
This relationship both fascinated and thrilled me, yet I never shook the feeling that there was something sinister beneath it all. I was not normal like other people. I was broken. That night, after Mercy first showed herself, I cried in fear of a descent into madness and the collateral damage I might cause. What would my loved ones say?
‘No one would take my word for it even if I wanted to tell’, I reminded Mercy.
At five years old I had no idea how my secret would become my downfall, no idea of such a thing as rock bottom. Not that that would’ve helped, nothing could have prepared me for the twisted fate that did befall me.
Aged seven I thought I had a good handle on it all, but all it took was one costly mistake and game over. Infuriatingly, I was unable to even defend myself, for I truly had no clue what had occurred in this one most important of moments. Suspicions only grew when I refused to say anything, the whole incident shrouded in doubt and mistrust. Ever since then I have been trying to remember the one thing I didn’t know about myself.
If you can't trust yourself, who can you trust?
Points: 1093
Reviews: 177
Donate