The Unexpected Visitors

After three months of intensive treatment, Mark was discharged from the hospital. He was happy to be home. He need not put up with the reek of the blood and the smell of medicines and the cries of people in the hospital. It was almost dinner time when the bell rang. An unexpected visitor, he thought, and he opened the door.

The visitor had a bandage on his arm and head. He limped a little, and there was a fresh scar under his eye. Mark tried to stop him, but the visitor just walked in and sat at the dinner table. Annoyed with his behaviour, Mark asked him to leave. Blood oozed out from the scar on his face, but the visitor did not mind the blood flowing on his face and lips.

As he dialled 911, there was another knock, this time an old woman, her hand crushed looking like a coarse paste of veins and muscle. Mark was about to vomit. Then there came the twins with scarred faces. Then came a young man of thirty-five who looked handsome and no bruises or cuts or scars. But as he walked, Mark saw his back, half of his head from the back had fallen off, bits of flesh falling off on the floor and leaving a trail as he walked.

Next came a teenager who hopped as her one leg ripped apart. She had wounds on her face and neck. That face looked familiar. A face he had seen before. That day, she had smoked when she had entered the bus. He scolded her for the smoke.

He clearly remembered because that was the day when the bus had crashed. He could not stop it, and in a desperate attempt to save his life he had jumped from the driver’s window and hit himself badly. Later on, when he regained consciousness in the hospital he was informed that there were no survivors.