"Oh no." I heard myself rumble, as I adeptly tread into the school with the Principal and the inimical, herculean men wearing sheeny badges. "In here" said one of the surly men directing me to enter the Principal's office.
"Alright." I phrased.
Upon infiltrating the unfamiliar room of our Principal, I found myself gazing at a senior bloke who sat far-off from us. He seemed like a whimsical elderly; the rare one, who seemed convenient and embracing.
He managed a tender smile, and rose from his seat as a sign of reverence. I bowed down fervently, astonished by his up-lifting charm, and the peculiarity as he did not gape at me, nor perceive me as a dubious personage just like everyone substantially discerned me.
"Your day must be bothersome, lad. Come have a seat; make yourself feel complacent." He spoke his first considerate words merrily.
All the individuals shared uncomfortable glances; except one, the venerable gentleman. Even though I had a reason to be indebted to him, the others were equally satisfied, attentive and amiable to him. I didn't have to cogitate long to know the reason.
He spoke cheerily; seemingly oblivious to his surroundings, but I knew he retained more profundity and gravity then he divulged. He was simple in dialogue, and more indulged in states regarding my mental health, and the welfare of my family.
I confessed my feelings soon after; telling him that I sense the erroneous sentiments of other people, I realize they feel dismayed and fazed by my appearance in the institution, just because I had endeavored a pivotal assignment a night before her death. I feel frenzied and delirious because everyone indirectly condemns me.
I leered at the police men after I concluded my sentence. One of them professed a scoff (I was sure I had earned his cordial loathing), and the other just smiled paradoxically, his eyes tinkling oddly.
To this, the elderly held my chin and raised it so I could level with his tranquil stare. He stood confidently, he had devised something to say so he eventually initiated:
He told me a story;
"Two men were travelling from one town to another. They came to a stream that had risen due to heavy rainfall. Just when they were about to cross the water, they noticed a young, beautiful woman standing there all alone, in need of help. One of the men immediately went to her side. He picked the women up and carried her in his arms across the stream. Then he dropped her there, waved good-bye, and the two men went their way.
During the rest of the trip, the second traveler was unusually silent and sullen, not responding to his friend's questions. After several hours of sulking, unable to keep silent anymore, he said, "Why did you touch that woman? She could have seduced you! Men and women cannot come into contact like that!"
The first man responded calmly, "My friend, I carried the woman across the stream, and that is where I left her. It is you who have been carrying her ever since."
"Young lad, you care too much of what other's apprehend and credit. Just like the second traveler you carry the implications of others. Don't fret over others ambivalence (uncertainty). You realize what you fathom, and you know what you fared. Don't worry! There are more exasperating things and more illusions. If you want to change the way others treat you, you should first change the way you treat yourself." He enunciated profoundly.
"Now go, dear! And commemorate what I said! Have a nice day." He uttered his last words as jovially as he had, when I entered the office looking pale and vexatious.
"Thank you" was what I mentioned before scuttling outside; as he had demanded.
Feeling calmer, and more composed I stepped onto the porch and inhaled in the breezy winds. "Thank you, God. I-"
My sparse moments of feeling courageous were defied by the temper of the police man;
"He's out there abashing us, humiliating us in-front of our former Principal's daughter, and we do nothing! The egoistic chap thinks so highly of himself, that he proclaims us too stunted for the role of a policeman, an old nitwit! Who is he to talk so lowly about us? He says I can't handle the forest alone, just wait you chap. I'm going to pass all your trials and judgments remarkably."
He kicked the brick-wall of our ancient school haphazardly, and didn't brace the impact. He winced in pain, and slumped down. "Screw you, Jamie." He muttered wearily. It was at this point a bombing realization hit me. Jamie must be linked to the forest in some way! And the fact either of the police men, nor my Principal had questioned me apprised further queries inside me. And what had Jamie transmitted me? Some bunch of photos and a hand-written note. Was it a clue? Why had she forwarded it to me, and not the police?
Questions, questions and questions...