“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.