Once Upon A Karma (Karmic Krystal Book 1) (4 page)

When I look up at my sisters’ faces, expecting them also to be smiling, I am confused to see that they are frowning back at me. 

“Krystal. Seriously?  What is
that
supposed to be?” Leena asks, sounding a little affronted by the fact that I had apparently done the wrong thing.  She shows me several more times but no matter how many times she writes my name, a hidden force within me guides the movement of my pencil, insisting that I am right with what has been written.  Leena eventually leaves the room, stomping her feet hard with every step, and complains to our parents that I am ignoring her.

“You don’t need to worry about it,” my mother tells Leena.  “Krystal will learn when she is older.  The teachers at the kindergarten are very good!” My dad and sisters agree, which only seems to fuel her frustration with me.

With twelve weeks to go until Yule is upon us again, my family go downstairs to give Rusty some exercise.  Tania holds a tennis ball which had seen much better days.  We all take turns throwing the ball to each other while Rusty chases it.  Not only does it give him a good workout, but it increases our hand-eye coordination.  When Rusty is all tuckered out, he walks to the shade alongside the house, drinks from his large water bowl and lies down while panting.  I decide to join him in taking a break.  Sitting next to Rusty, I put my head on his chest and listen as his ribs go up and down.  I hear Rusty’s heart beating fast.  He is panting so he can cool his body down and get his breath back.  After one more hour of play, I have all but fallen asleep while using a sleeping Rusty as a pillow.  When I look up, Dad is staring down at me, holding out his hand.  He pulls me into a standing position and together, we go upstairs for dinner.

The next day, Leena rushes downstairs with her backpack and grabs her bicycle from under the house.  Not wanting to be late for kindergarten, she starts to pedal out of the yard and is about ten metres away before Mum opens the door to call out to her.  She is holding up Leena’s lunch bag, which had been forgotten before Leena left the house, and Mum doesn’t want her to go hungry.  The moment the door opens, Rusty runs down the stairs.  He wants to play and have a race with Leena while she is on her bike.  Rusty is so excited that he runs as fast as he can… straight out onto the road.

A speeding motorist appears to come from out of nowhere.  The front bumper of the car hits Rusty so hard that he is thrown into the air, landing about 15 metres further than where he had been standing only seconds before.  I hear my mother scream at the same time that I hear the screech of tyres on the road at the front of the house, bringing the car momentarily to a halt.  Leena also screams and cries as she drops her bike, rushing over to where Rusty has landed.  It takes a few seconds before I realise what had just happened.  Following my mother down the stairs, I once again hear a screech of tyres as the car speeds off.  That is when I see my beloved Rusty, bleeding and broken on the road.  I run to him as fast as my little legs will allow and when I reach him, I put my head on his chest just as I had done the day before.  Rusty doesn’t move.  He is not breathing.  The only sounds I can hear are his ribs collapsing under my ear.  I know, just by touching his broken body, that Rusty’s soul is gone.  My best friend is dead.

Trembling with horror and rage as adrenaline courses through my veins, I look up and can still see the car in the distance.  While watching the car, I am able to see the face of the driver inside my head.  I hear his laughter before seeing the faces of many other people – children and adults – as they scream, while looking on in horror as their pets had also been run down by this maniac. 
Oh my God! You do this for fun?  You worthless piece of…
Before I can finish my thoughts, I point my finger towards the fleeing car as my fury unleashes the wail of a banshee from my lungs.  From within the speeding vehicle, I hear the driver’s shrieks of pure agony as his soul is forcibly torn from his body.  The car comes to an eventual stop in the middle of the road as, one by one, the bones of the driver’s body pulverise, leaving nothing but dust in their wake.  Wanting him to experience every bit of his punishment in its entirety, I focus carefully on his consciousness as the bones from his toes, feet, ankles, legs, pelvis and spine disintegrate, transforming the frame of his body into the equivalent of a coriaceous mass of jelly.  Every movement brings agony to the driver.  His lungs continue to suck in oxygen and exhale a vile stench of air.  He continues to scream as the remaining bones in his ribs, fingers, arms, shoulders, neck and skull are no more.  As his eyes sink backwards into the blob which still houses his veins, muscles and blood, I witness everything those eyes see as they descend through a red river of sinew, bodily organs and faeces.
You need to feel every bit of pain that you have caused.
 

My mother catches a glimpse of the car in the distance which had stopped in the middle of the road.  She does not hear the driver’s screams.  None of my family knows what is happening to the evil joy-rider behind the wheel.  On the news that night, however, a clip of the giant skin-covered globule oozing out of the driver’s door when police and media arrive at the scene is shown.  The very second that skin touches the concrete of the road, it splits open, spilling out the blood and organs within.  It is at that moment that the driver finally dies.  Never again will he kill another animal on the road for fun.  The clip continues, showing the police trying to quickly cover the mess with a white sheet as one eyeball floats up into view from the offal-filled pool of blood, but the white sheet leaves nothing to the imagination.  It puzzles the newsreader how a human body can disintegrate from the inside without any visible signs of trauma, even though the car which had contained it doesn’t have a single scratch on it. 

Engulfed in our own grief, my family feels absolutely nothing for the speeding driver who had killed our dog before driving off without a second thought.  They do
shudder
however, when the newsreader tells viewers of the coroner’s finding that the soulless glob’s heart had still been beating when the police arrived. 

“He killed Rusty!” screams Leena angrily.  Sobbing, she wipes away her tears with her pyjama sleeves.  Mum and Dad hug her as they listen to the news story.

“Yeah, he did,” I say, glaring at the television screen.  “Ever mind the rule of three,” I whisper before going to bed.

All is quiet in the Hunter household after losing Rusty.  Immersed in grief, Dad digs a grave for our beloved dog, burying his remains at the fence line in the back yard.  On top of Rusty’s resting place, I level a spot on top of the dirt with my hand.  It is here that Rusty’s water bowl will sit.  Each day, fresh water will replace that from the day before.  Although we know that Rusty is no longer with us, the fresh water will enable surrounding wildlife to quench their thirst each time they pass through.  I also plant a tiny Frangipani branch in the soil which covers Rusty’s body in lieu of a tombstone.  With each daily visit, I will water the branch after each prayer to the Goddess, asking that she give the small branch the strength to grow big and strong.

Over the next few days, I watch as Dad puts his building ideas to work.  After bringing home a load of soft pine, he unloads it next to his work space under the house.  Carefully measuring, cutting, drilling and screwing pieces of wood together, he keeps quiet about what it is that he is making.  This creates a world of excitement, leaving my sisters and me playing guessing games about what it might be. 

“Is it a sandpit?” asks Tania.  Our dad simply shakes his head while continuing to put this mysterious object together.

“A new bed?” asks Leena.

“Why would you want a new bed?” Tania enquires.  “Did you pee yours?”  Both girls giggle aloud before looking up to see what my guess would be.  I shrug my shoulders, not knowing nor caring what it will be.  I force a smile before returning to watching Dad’s masterpiece come together.

It is Yule once more.  While my father lights the Yule log, my mother puts some Egg Nog on the table before she hands our gifts to us.  Leena squeals with delight as she opens her gift of five giant colouring books and a full set of colouring pencils.  Tania’s eyes open wide when she opens her gift.  She receives her very own game of
Twister
, which she can play with her family or her friends at kindergarten the following year.   It is then time for my gift.  I slowly unwrap my present and smile.  Not only is there a game called
Ludo
, but there is also a large framed photograph of me and Rusty, with my arms wrapped around Rusty’s neck.  We look so happy in the photograph, with both of us smiling.  I decided that this picture will hang on the wall of my bedroom so I can see my furry friend each night before I go to sleep.  I miss him very much.

Once the gifts are put away and everybody has returned to the kitchen, I notice that Dad has not returned to the table.

“Why isn’t Daddy here?” I ask Mum.

“I’m in here!” he calls from the living room.  Together, we all stand up and follow his voice, wondering why he is sitting alone in the dark.  When I turn the living room light on, I can’t help but giggle when Dad squints from the sudden bright light shining into his eyes.

“Are you okay, Daddy?”  I ask as I climb up onto his lap.  Once we are all sitting down, he simply stares at the wall.  I follow the direction of his stare.  It is a few seconds before I notice it, but there is something against the wall, covered in a pink floral bed sheet.  “What is it?” It puzzles me why a covered box would be in our house. 

My father lifts me from his lap and walks over to the sheet.  “Don’t you want to know what it is that I have been making?” he asks, a pretend-shocked look appearing on his face.  Simultaneously, our eyes grow big with excitement at finally learning the big secret.  Pulling away the sheet, Dad unveils the most amazing bookcase I have ever seen!  I run over and hug his leg while staring at our wooden bookcase in awe.  Each shelf of the bookcase is filled with brand new books from different authors: Mark Twain, John O’Grady, May Gibbs, Enid Blyton, various Australian Aboriginal Dreamtime story books and more… as well as the entire collection of our Little Golden Books.

“It’s beautiful!” I say to both of my parents, knowing that many of the books were Mum’s contribution to the shelves.  My sisters and I sit in front of the bookcase, with each of us trying to decide which book to read first.  Eventually, my mother leans over and pulls out a book by Enid Blyton, titled, “
The Naughtiest Girl in the School
.”  Leena raises an eyebrow, as if to silently ask if our mother is taking a jab at her upcoming year at school with the big kids.

Over the following week, I slide a book out from the new bookcase, titled, “
The Rainbow Serpent
,” which tells the story of how the rivers were created throughout the land.  After I finish looking at the pictures, I carefully slide the book back into the same slot before taking out the next book, “
Tiddalick, the Frog who caused a Flood
.”  I look forward to the day when I actually learn how to read!

Tania’s first day of kindergarten arrives.  Leena and I play together during the day while Tania is away, since Leena is not due to start the first grade in big girl’s school for another two weeks.  She spends most of those two weeks teaching me how to ride a bicycle.  My tricycle is packed away into the storage area and my bigger bike from last year is pulled out of storage, its training wheels still attached.  With a whole lot of practice, I get better and better at riding.  As my legs get used to the pedalling motion and I practice using the brakes, Leena rides slowly alongside me to make sure no harm befalls her littlest sister.

While we are outside on our bikes, a car drives past.  The driver throws a beer bottle out of the car just as it passes our house, missing my sister by mere inches.  As the bottle hits the ground, it explodes, spraying shards of glass in all directions.  I know that if any of my family stands on the broken glass without shoes, their feet will be torn to shreds.  Looking up at the car, I frown as the driver continues his journey along the road. 
Oh, no you don’t!
  The car’s front tyres both suddenly explode, causing the car to run off the road.  As soon as it comes to a full halt, the driver slowly emerges from the car, cursing loudly, although visibly shaken by what had just happened. 

Our mother comes downstairs, shocked at all of the broken glass on the ground, accompanied by all of the cussing she can hear in the presence of her two young children.  Angry and fearless, she marches right up to the inebriated, potty-mouthed driver who is scratching his head and kicking the car’s tyres.

“You are going to get your ass back to my house
right now
and clean up every single bit of broken glass on my lawn.” she yells; every syllable of her words laced with pure fury. 

“Screw you, fucking bitch!” the driver screams, standing nose to nose with our mother and glaring into her eyes.  I look at the glass again, relieved that the bottle did not hit my sister or me, before climbing off my bike and walking towards my mother and the careless driver. 

“Pick. It. Up.” I take my mother’s hand and stare up into the driver’s eyes.  I visualise my sisters and parents walking on the broken glass, screaming as blood pours out of their feet which have been torn apart, as if the soles of their feet had just been sent through an industrial-strength shredder. 
Let’s see how you would feel in their shoes. 
Looking away from his eyes, I glance at the driver’s feet.  Within seconds, blood starts flowing out of the driver’s shoes.  The man screams higher than any soprano, before hopping up and down from one foot to the other, as if he was standing on burning hot coals.

“Ow,
FUCK!
” he shouts.  Mum quickly covers my ears.  The driver, slowly and painfully, walks back towards the house.  He leans down and picks up two small pieces of broken glass before asking my mother for a rubbish bag.

“Use your damn pockets. 
We
are not paying for
your
mess!” my mum says, pissed off that he’d even dared to ask. 

The driver is about to answer my mother back with some more cussing, but one glance from me seemed to fill him with an inexplicable fear, which oozes out of him like blood from a severed limb.  Shaking, he starts placing every piece of broken glass into the pocket of his tight denim jeans.  By the time he picks up the last piece, his right hand is bleeding, as is the top of his right leg where his pocket is situated.  Without a word, he heads back to his car in the hopes of flagging down a passing motorist so they can help him change the blown tyres on his car.  Leaning against the side of his car, he looks up at Leena, me and my mother.  The motorist extends his bleeding middle finger in our direction.  Mum leans down and whispers to us both put our bikes away because it is time to go upstairs.  As soon as we have all reached the top stair, I turn around to see him with his thumb extended.  After three cars drive past, ignoring his request for a lift or a helping hand, the driver looks up at me again and re-extends his finger.  In a flash, it begins pouring down rain.  With the sudden wet and cold taking up all of the air, the rude driver starts shivering in his rain-soaked clothes.  Forgetting about the glass, he shoves his hands into his pockets to try and keep warm and lets out a new scream from fresh cuts to his hand.  I am almost three years old, and even I know that a person with any sort of brain would simply climb back into their car to stay dry.  After losing a fair amount of blood, the driver finally flags down a motorist before making his way to the hospital to get patched up.

When the tow truck arrives one hour later, the rain finally stops.  I kneel on a chair and peek out the front window, watching as the car is loaded onto the truck.  It is the first time I have ever seen a tow truck in action and am transfixed on what is going on, until I see Tania ride her bike past the truck and turn into the driveway.  I am relieved that there is no glass on the ground which can hurt her. 

With her backpack over her shoulder, Tania trundles up the front stairs with a smile on her face.  She really seems to be enjoying kindergarten and I find myself looking forward to next year, when it will be my turn.

As soon as Dad arrives home from work, my sisters and I set the table for dinner and tell him about the glass incident.  I also tell him how the man spoke to Mum when she told him to clean up his mess.  Deep in thought, Dad nods.

“Sounds like some kind of Karma to me.  The filthy foul mouthed slime is lucky it was just your mum he had to deal with and not me!”  Everybody at the table agrees.  Although Dad is quite the softie when it comes to his family, we also know how quick he can be with his fists if his family is threatened in any way.

I can’t help but smile at the events of the day, knowing that now, nobody can hurt their feet on the broken glass.  I also know that the driver of the car will never throw another bottle out of a moving vehicle again. 
The last time I smelled that much fear was when Ralph was wearing a pair of steel-capped boots, kicking my grandfather’s junk like there was no tomorrow.
In hindsight, I feel I should have asked Ralph to come down and join us when the guy was mouthing off to my mother.

After dinner, Tania shows Leena and me how she can write her name, just as Leena had done the previous year.  Thanks to Leena’s guided tutelage the previous year, Tania is able to write it with ease and shows us both how she can do it, although it is a little bit hard for me to read and the letters are very big.

“It looks perfect, Tania!” I squeal, giving her a big hug.  Leena tells Tania that she is very proud of her. 

Both Leena and Tania quickly get to work, again trying to teach me how to write my name so that I can impress the teachers at kindergarten next year.  They write it on paper and ask me to copy it.  They even hold a pen into my hand, but still it doesn’t look like what they have written. 

Leena studies the word and frowns at me.  “Krystal, you’re killing me, here!” she says, frustrated by what I had written.  As she storms off, a gentle voice inside my head reassures me that what I had written was completely correct; that I had written my name in its truest and purest form. 

Climbing onto my bed that night, I reach over and give Ralph a hug that almost bursts the stuffing right out of him.  Tomorrow will be my third birthday and I am excited that we will be spending it at the beach.

When I wake, the foot of my bed is covered in birthday gifts from friends and family.  I decide that they can wait.  The weather in Cribb Island always keeps people on their toes and I want to at least get my feet wet today with my family.  As I am given the choice in where to celebrate, I choose Shorncliffe Pier.  This way, my dad can get in some fishing off the jetty while the rest of us enjoy the water near the sea wall as the tide goes out.