Acid Rain R.D Rhodes (small books to read .txt) 📖

below and expanding out in all directions. I drifted down further, and the branches got thicker and fatter, then I saw where the huge girths of the trunks were rooted into the earth, and I rooted with them.

It was beautiful and green everywhere. The grass was like a soft carpet, and there was such a sense of infinite peace and simplicity, that made me feel so happy, tears welled in my eyes. The wind hushed the branches. No traffic, no screaming, no suffering. Just that soothing breeze coursing past my ears.

I noticed a couple of boulders next to each other and made my way across. Both rocks were low enough to sit on, with flat, smooth surfaces. I sat on one and kicked my feet through the long grass.

This is perfect, I thought. I couldn’t help smiling and when I started, I couldn’t stop. The trees way above my head, the wind hushing in my ears caressing my soul. I soaked it all up. All the great quietness and solitude. I became faintly aware of my body, still in my ward room, sitting on the bed with a grin.

But just then, a face materialized amongst the trees beyond. I peered closer and made out the body as well. It came out of the forest and approached me. He sat down on the other boulder.

It was my dad.

I looked into his eyes and recoiled in a state of shock. His eyes were almost the exact same as Nina’s in group therapy, and that screaming man in the common room- anxious, tormented. His face was full of sorrow. But he didn’t look at me, he was staring at my feet. I realized that it was taking him a great deal of strength just to be there.

“Aisha,” he said, in his old familiar voice. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please?”

A shiver ran up my spine. I was conscious of every light, every sound and every movement. He was sitting there in front of me as clear as I last remembered him, and his voice and tone brought all my old memories of him flooding back. But his eyes. I had never seen them look like that. I had never seen him look like that. I couldn’t bring myself to be angry with him anymore, I couldn’t be angry at a face as full of anguish as that.

“I’m here to ask you for your forgiveness. I was wrong. I have no excuse. I did some horrible things to you. Please. Forgive me. I am sorry.”

He was crying. He was a tough man when he was alive. He didn’t show his emotions, kept everything inside. It was surreal hearing those words come out from his mouth, hearing him plead with me.

I managed to get over my initial shock and spit the words out, “Where are you?” I said.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I can’t tell you where I am, I’m not allowed to. Please just accept my apology. Forgive me.”

His face was full of such angst and uneasiness, that despite everything he had done, I felt a sharp pang of my old childhood love for him, the small glimmer of love that remained. I couldn’t find it within me to say no, when he was suffering as clear as I could see him.

“I forgive you.” I said.

His face relaxed slightly, and his eyes met mine for the first time. He looked thankful. “I really am sorry.” He said again. “Look, I have to go. Just know that I love you. I should have never did what I did.”

“Wait. Where are you going? Why do you have to go?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t say. I just have to go. Please know how sorry I truly am. I can’t forgive myself. I’m so sorry.”

He got up from the rock and walked back into the woods from where he had come. So quickly I watched his back fade away and then disappear altogether into the darkness.

I was alone again. I couldn’t see, hear or feel anything.

“Tomorrow.” A voice inside my head said. “Your friend will come tomorrow.”

I opened my eyes in the position I had been in before I drifted off. I wiggled my toes and fingers. My body felt like a block of ice. I was all jittery inside too. It had all seemed so real. I can’t even escape in my head, I thought, but the strange thing was I still felt at peace. Actually, I felt great, better than I had done for months. I was so calm and each breath that I took in felt like a blessing.

It can’t have been real, I thought. Just my imagination, maybe what my subconscious had hoped to see. Faith is a great survival tool, it gives you hope, and I have no doubt my mind can create something to give me that hope. But what hope did I get out of that? That there is an afterlife? That my dad is suffering for what he did? But I don’t want him to suffer. Or do I?

Why would my mind create something like that? It was so fresh and vivid. What did it mean?

He asked for my forgiveness, but he said he couldn’t forgive himself. And he had never been like that before, I’ve never seen his face like that in my whole life. And his eyes, how can I ever forget those eyes?

I lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The sense of peace and happiness was quick to go. And the more I thought about it the more anxious I got.

I had talked to God, prayed, since I was little. But the answers you got back in your head were never definitive. The voices you hear in your head could always be your own. How do you separate them? How did you know?

I was sure I was crazy.

I clasped my hands