“What was that, the trailer of
wrong turn?” I asked myself.
The merciless slashing of the
bodies, the skillful yet swift beheading of men, the floating bodies in angry bloody
flood and I was in the isle, injured, at my best to survive.
Then I realized it wasn’t a trailer
of Wrong Turn but replica of ‘Bajiroa Mastani’ I watched before I slept.
The gruesome nightmare woke me
in the wee hour, the morning cold scolded me to sleep, the mattress begged me
to stay, the blanket lured me to embrace it and a mind, a slave of my lazy body
almost readily agreed to it when I heard Apa in stern tone “ Woo sho Tshering!
hang ya zamin rang mangiwa dabu yebchona.”
“Apa please wai…dasu yephey.” I
begged hugging blanket tightly.
“Woosho yegpa na. Wunthan Amchi
ga toh tey chos pey rumcho.” Apa said again. I could hear the clinking of
utensils from kitchen confirming she needs help in the kitchen.
Wrong turn! I don’t want to disappoint
my parents again. I reluctantly but guiltily woke up, promising to be more
responsible. Apa is currently doing M.Ed at Paro and Ama, Memey and siblings
came from Gelephu Tsachu and we are houseful at Amchi’s place. And it was not
the best act to sleep like a log when a fireplace oven demands the log to be
fed.
One wrong turn and you are
doomed.
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