Family Story Part 2

In this revised version of Family Story Part 1, we were assigned to add magical realism to our original. This post would include fantasy and the magic of our imagination to bring our version of the family story to life.


1. A Vision of the Future

It was a typical Friday night. We had gone out to dinner as usual because my mom had some work to finish up at school. The food court always sufficed our appetites; I ordered raamen with a side of gyoza. The meal was hearty and comforting, especially the soup as I could feel the heated liquid run down the side of my throat. As I was preparing to take my next sip, I saw a swirl of color as the steam coated my face. I pulled the foam bowl away from my astonished face just in time to see a peculiar sight, well, at least not one you would see in your dinner. There was a figure of a masked man walking around the whole of my house then hauling up boxes of my mother’s jewelry to see what he scored. His eyes were as cold as anything and had a malicious personality of its own. Then, the image began to fade as fast as it had appeared. I was staring so intently and so unbelievingly at my raamen soup that my mother asked “Something wrong?” It took me a while to process what I had seen and concluding moments after staring deep into oblivion ‘I must be too tired to be seeing straight.’ I didn’t think anything of this odd vision until we arrived home.


2. A Shadow in Light

The reflection of the glass doors rippled as my father pulled the handle. The four of us walked past the escalators, and I took a glance past the descending moving stairs and into the opening they led to. It was unusually darker than usual, seeing as the sky was still partially lighted. I turned my gaze back and helped my grandmother cross the parking lot until I could finally see the familiar blue Toyota. We proceeded inside the car and were off towards home. My mind wandered elsewhere to looking forward to my soothing shower and sleeping in my soft, welcoming bed. I fixed my eyes past the glittering glass window to see people dressed in rags. They were slightly hunched over, which masked their faces in shadow. They looked cold and had shaggy overcoats, like coats worn by people rushing past on New York streets, but not quite as clean and business-like. This was an odd sight, as it was a humid evening, and the sky was a dark shade of dull grey.
The car turned a corner to the familiar street to our house. As my mother slowed down to turn into the garage, out of the corner of my eye, a beam of light emitted from the doorway of our house. I turned my head instinctively to see the shadow of a man, his figure obscuring some of what looked like the living room light in the doorway. His dark figure suddenly rippled and vanished before my very eyes followed by the door closing shut on its own and immediately dousing the beam of light. Still astonished, my focus shifted and I looked to my father and mother’s faces wondering f they had seen what I’d just seen. Unfortunately, my mother’s face still looked as weary as ever, and my father’s resembled an eager child wanting to watch his favorite TV show. Apparently then hadn’t. The car wheels grazed the gravel of our worn down garage and just as soon as the car was parked, my impatient grandmother stepped out of the car. I rushed out after her, as I too was eager to get out of the car and inspect the scene of the phenomenon. Her arm felt cold to the touch as she walked unsteadily up the steps to our simpleton abode. She and I finally came up to the painted dirt red porch. I let her arm go, and she proceeded up the rest herself. My father always leaves a flashlight beside the door helping her to fit the key with the secreted lock. My grandmother turned the knob forcefully, but the door didn’t budge. “What’s going on here?” she questioned frustratingly. She opened the lock once again and finally the door opened. “The door must have been unlocked already.” As soon as I stepped inside I knew my worst fears became a reality.


3. A False Probability

My grandmother called my mother who followed right behind us and helped my grandmother enter the foreboding living room. I stood frozen at the doorway as my mother took cautious steps around the house slowly creeping her way to her bedroom. She stood at the doorway and then turned on the light bracing herself for any surprises once the room was illuminated. Her finger flicked upward and fortunately nothing jumped out at her. However, things were not the same as she left it. Jewelry was poured out on her bed and she noticed three things missing from the tangled mess of necklaces and rings, one of which was her class ring. When I finally regained my mind, I walked to the bathroom where my grandmother began to call for my mother. The screen was gone, and the clear panel of the nearby window was broken. Just after she inspected the bathroom, my mom called the police.
“Well, there are no fingerprints on the window or the broken panels outside,” said the cop. I figured this because my notion was that the burglar who I saw in the doorway only broke the window to cover up any unexplainable behavior such as appearing out of thin air. No one would have been able to explain it. The policeman continued, “We can try to see if there are but I’m afraid the fingerprints will have been erased by the rain.”
My mother asked, “Are they going to come back?” Her voice was slightly raspy and shaky.
“ Not likely,” explained the policeman. “They usually don’t. But it looks as if something scared him away. You are all very fortunate that he or she didn’t come when any of you were home.” He added, “You’re also lucky that all of you are safe. You can call us if you have any other questions or concerns.” We thanked the policeman and proceeded to clean up the mess the burglar had left.
I wanted so much to relax and enjoy my weekend even with this recent troubled memory. I walked past the screen door and stared outside at the fruit tree across the street. As I stared, a familiar dark figure appeared. He had a coat just like the people we had passed, although it was metallic black. Perhaps he was their wring leader. His coat shone even in the darkness, so did his eyes. They were cold and hard, like an unbreakable piece of metal. A gold glimmer also shined on his piercing grey finger, my mother’s class ring. He stared right at me, and then vanished with the same ripple I had seen before.
I never found out why he broke into our house or why he had particularly stolen my mother’s class ring. What I do know is he was unexplainable, not your usual burglar. To this day, I never encountered him or the other dirty-coated strangers I saw on the street last night. However, the living room light shines brighter than usual, and the broken panel on the bathroom window serves as a reminder of my impression of a child’s daydream gone wrong.