A visit home

Huh, it smells...different.

She waited for her suitcase as a small stream of people exited the bus beside her - a mother with two young children, a few quiet adults wearing headphones, and a couple fresh off a recent argument, standing apart, the air between them thick with unspoken anger. She finished the last drop of her water bottle and threw it at a trashcan near the newspaper stand. When she arrived, she was immensely glad to see the newspaper stand still open, still stocked with food and drink, and rushed to buy some water, her thirst coming first before everything - even her suitcase. The only bottles she could find were from Brevity, a local water distillery that drew its water from the groundwater table a few miles out of town. She downed one bottle immediately and stored the other in her backpack, for the long walk home.

She walked back to her bus at the central bus depot. Her suitcase, a banged-up, flowery little thing, was handed to her by the driver. "Thank you," she said, but he had already moved on to the next passenger. She dragged her suitcase behind her, the wheels barely hanging on as she walked down the cobblestoned path out of the depot. The sun was about to set, and her walk home was a long one.

The first thing she noticed was the shrubbery, dotted along the pavement. She didn't remember the shrubbery looking so...vibrant. The green seemed jarring, like it was Photoshopped on, compared to the dusty pavement below and the dusky sky above. She stopped and bent down to feel the leaves, and was surprised by how soft the leaves were. Granted, she wasn't in the habit of touching leaves (she tried to keep a houseplant once and failed miserably), so she was unsure of how a leaf was meant to feel. 

I need to go outside more, and actually touch grass.

 It was a hard moment to realise that she didn't actually know how a leaf felt. Yikes.

She plucked a leaf from a branch and pocketed it, continuing to randomly stroke the leaf in her pocket while she dragged her suitcase along. The walk was comforting, and memories of her childhood flashed into her mind, unbidden. The times she walked from the bus stop with her older sister and younger brother, the trio walking sullenly, loudly, gaily, angrily, and every other emotion in between; the three fought easily, and forgave easily, and every walk to and from the bus stop was sure to be rife with jokes, fights, and secrets. In her memories, the sky was bluer, the ground was brighter, and the shrubbery burst with flowers. Now, the sky and the ground are dull, and the bushes are barren. 

She turns left into a narrow lane and continues, the path now slightly more rocky. The suitcase is in serious danger of losing a wheel. She stops again, looking down. The rocks. The pebbles and the rocks on the trail are....

Were they always this round?

Each rock and pebble have smooth edges, and the path looks like it's been littered with marbles. This was...weird. It reminded her of the high school senior prank her seniors played, the year she joined the new high school building. Every minor thing was replaced with plastic alternatives: the test tubes, the pebbles in the front gardens, the light bulbs in most of the classrooms, and other minor areas. The test tubes were memorable, since the chemistry lab was entirely non-functional for a week while they replaced the plastic test tubes. The student body found it hilarious, the teachers, less so. 

The pebble felt smooth and solid in her palm, and she fingered the pebble for a few moments, trying to feel for a seam or...something. Something that would explain it. 

She dragged her suitcase along the pebbled road. The path looked the same - long, winding, and the houses she eventually passed by felt familiar (although most of them had a fresh coat of white paint). The roundness of the pebbles kept distracting her, and she often stopped to just stare at the ground, before continuing on her way. Perhaps her mother would know more; though she retired as a high school english teacher a few years ago, she must still speak to her colleagues at the school, and would know if this is a part of the 'senior prank'.

Her house, at the end of the lane, looked smaller than she remembered. She knew this would happen (her friends warned her that home would always feel smaller, and to brace for change), but it surprised her all the same. 

The surrounding wall that she could just peek over was now at a comfortable shoulder height; the main entrance which seemed so luxurious was now a normal door, and the garden which seemed sprawling was now much smaller, an average-sized garden for an average-sized home in the suburbs. The house, like the others, looked fresh. She opened the second bottle of water and took a sip, partly to delay the inevitable, and partly to whet her stomach before her mother brought on the multitude of snacks and drinks to welcome her daughter home.

The grass in the garden was as vibrant as the shrubbery outside, which surprised her. Is there something in the fertilizer they're using?

That would explain the vibrant green-ness in all the plants she's seen till now. The pebbles, too, were as smooth as the ones on the way home, and the trees that dotted the garden wall were small but shiny in their appearance. She crossed the gate (opening it specifically so it doesn't squeak, a habit formed over late nights and forbidden friends) and touched some of the leaves - they felt the same, too. So, it was something in the soil, then. She dropped the plucked leaf into the soil, took a deep breath, and knocked on the front door. 

"Hello, darling!"

What the fuck?

That wasn't her mother. She immediately took a step back, her body flooded with adrenaline. She knew, on instinct, that the woman in front of her wasn't her mother. She looked *exactly* the same, but something was different. She smelled different. That was it - she didn't smell the same. Not just a cologne, but the underlying sweet scent that she always had, regardless of whether she showered or not, or what perfume she wore. Even though it's been a decade, she knew. 

"What's wrong, hon? Why do you look so scared? Is everything okay?" 

The woman's concern sounded genuine, and she was so confused. "I... uh...." 

"Oh, honey, are you tired from the journey? Come in, your brother's just got home and we made milkshakes!"

She let the woman lead her into the house - into her family home. 

The home was unchanged from when she was a little girl. The only difference is that the photos were added periodically, tabletops and walls crowded with many family photos, portraits, and simple paintings. She let the other woman lead her to a kitchen - *wait, I don't remember that photo* - where her brother blended peanut butter, chocolate ice cream and milk together, creating a creamy peanut butter milkshake. He turned to face her. "Didn't your bus come in a while ago? Was there a lot of traffic?" 

The first thing she noticed was the spot on his face, on his left cheek. It didn't look like a normal mole, or pimple. The spot was a dark, angry red, and it throbbed. The spot looked painful, and she instinctively touched her own face. "What happened to your cheek?" she asked, rubbing her own. 

"What? Nothing - why, is there something on my face?" he asked, rubbing his hands over both cheeks. The spot dimpled under the pressure, but continued to be an angry, throbbing spot. Clearly, it didn't hurt him. 

"Right here, on your cheekbone," she said, reaching out to his face. The spot was incredibly hot to her touch, hot enough for her to pull her hand back in alarm. "Huh, I can't feel anything there at all. Wait, let me check it out in the bathroom," he said, moving to the nearest bathroom down the hall. 

"Take a seat, dear, aren't you tired?" her mom asked, pulling a couple of fresh cookies from the cookie jar - a wonky clay jar she made back in high school, which still survived to this day. She didn't remember the jar being this banged up, but got distracted by the smell of fresh, warm cookies. Her mom's cookies still smelled the same. 

She was digging into her second cookie when her brother came back in. "I can't see anything, I don't get it," he complained. "What is on my face? Are you sure you see it?" 

"Yes, it's right there, on your -" the spot was gone.

She stood up, grabbed his face and pulled it closer. He yelped in pain. Yep. The spot had completely disappeared. No heat, no redness, *nothing*. 

"What the hell, man?" he said, rubbing his cheeks. "What are you tripping on?"

"I thought I saw something on your face - no, I swear I saw something on your face," she said. 

"uh-huh," he said, rolling his eyes. Her mother looked concerned. "Do you want to lie down, for a little while? I can wake you up when dinner is ready?" 

She suddenly felt very tired, almost exhausted - by the journey, by the lingering sense of wrongness, by her brother's mysterious spot - all of it. "Sure," she said. That sounds like a good idea. 

She left her suitcase downstairs and trudged up to her childhood bedroom, backpack in tow. The room was smaller than she remembered, and most of her pictures and portraits were crooked. The room was mildly dusty, as though it hadn't been entered in a few months. She straightened a few of her pictures before plopping down on the bed. She finished the water bottle and kept it on the bedside table, before lying down and quickly falling asleep. 

She woke up to a stranger shaking her. Immediately, she shot up, before realizing that it was...her mother? Her hair was different. "Did you get a haircut?" she asked. 

"What? No, hon, of course not. I was downstairs, making dinner. Are you sure you're alright?" her mother asked, placing a hand on her forehead. "You feel a little warm..." 

She brushed her mother's hand aside. "Yeah, I feel fine." 

She pushed the blanket covers aside, and stood up. "Let's eat!"

The kitchen was stifling. She could feel sweat running down her back as she struggled to get comfortable at the table - on a chair that was practically moulded to her bottom, considering how often she sat at her seat on the table. The dining table felt smaller, and grimier than she remembered. Her brother's spot was darker and angrier than before, and she found her eyes continually drawn to it as they ate. Her brother, oblivious to it all, happily dug in. 

Her mother's hair was back to its usual length, but the colour seemed brighter, like she had dyed it - except she never, ever dyed her hair. They talked of generic things; how her work was going, how the town had changed since she was gone, and her brother's own business. 

"I can't believe how much of this place is still the same," she said, remembering. 

Even then, everything feels...different.

Her mother nodded. "I know, it feels like this place hasn't changed in 30 years, and I don't think it ever really will. That's why I wanted to move here when you were just babies, this place has some real soul."

She rolled her eyes and slurped her soup - and immediately spit it out. Her soup was chunky, and not the nice kind of chunky, the theres-something-in-my-food-that-shouldn't-be-there chunky. Her mother stood up in alarm. "What's wrong?" she asked, the only emotion on her face was concern. Bits of soup were stuck to the table. There was nothing in the soup that could have contributed to the chunky feeling in her mouth. 

"Nothing...I thought I felt something...it's fine. I'm sorry," she said, her face red with embarrassment. What was that?

The rest of the meal was quiet, and she gagged down the rest of the soup and the turkey, swallowing past the slimy, uncooked chunks that *moved* in her mouth. She was tired, that's all. 

She took a sip of her brother's peanut butter milkshake and felt the peanut butter coat her teeth. The next sip, she could feel curdled milk solids in her mouth, the texture  of fermented yogurt. It tasted like vomit. 

The next thing she felt was her head hitting the floor, her hair in a pool of food she threw up - most of which were largely undigested - and could feel a stranger's hands on her back. Her mother's hands were softer than that. Who was touching her? She couldn't turn and look. She could feel the rest of her food writhing in her stomach, crawling back up her throat, threatening to spill past her teeth and lips and be released into the world. She felt a piece of uncooked turkey worm its way past her lips, and that was all. 

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From: The Marsi Daily

Text: Breaking News

Brevity has conducted a massive recall of all water bottles bottled and distributed in the last 3 weeks, after several reports of water poisoning had come in, with at least 1 death reported in the area so far. Members of the public that have bought or consumed any contaminated water are urged to go to the hospital immediately.

Stay tuned for more updates.