The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic Page A

still spoke in that eight-year-old voice, never opening her mouth, while her head tilted in an unnatural angle. 
    “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking abo–” 
    She cut me off. “It’s time to take it now,” she said, pulling out her purse from under the table. “It really is.” 
    Then she took an orange out of her bag. That’s all she did. She didn’t offer it to me; she didn’t eat it herself, or say anything else. She just held it there.
    At that point, as I imagine any kid would, I was getting scared as fuck. I was absolutely speechless at this sudden transformation of a grown woman into some sort of a puppet-child with an orange. Luckily, I heard the balcony door open and my mom walked in.
    “Who’s ready for some cake?” she asked cheerfully, breaking the tension in the air. 
    Just like that, Rose switched back to normal. She tucked the orange back into her purse, cocked her head back into a natural human position, and smiled a normal human smile.
    “Oh, that looks wonderful, what did you put in it?” Rose asked in her own adult voice, looking at the piece of cake my mom put in front of her. 
    I got up, confused and scared, and walked out.
    “You’re not going to have any cake, Milos?” Rose asked, right before I was about to close the door.
    I looked at her right in the eyes. Man, I swear I saw something unnatural in them, but I just can’t define it properly. It was a look that was fully aware of the shit that had happened just a moment ago. A look of confidence. A look that told me this story wasn’t over; rather, it had just begun.
    “No, I’m ok,” I said, shutting the door. 
    I spent the rest of the day in my room avoiding any further contact with Rose.
    That night, I had trouble sleeping. Every time I’d try to doze off, that childish, unnatural voice would pop into my head.
    “It’s time to take it now.”
    I was covered in goosebumps, but still sweating under the blanket. Every few minutes, I’d look at my window. My room was on the first floor and the window was pretty low, probably only 5 feet above the ground, making it very easy for anyone to peek through. Just as I was about to convince myself that I was overreacting, I looked into the window one final time.
    And there she was. Standing at the fucking window. 
    The brightness of the moonlight only added to the glow of Rose’s pale skin, making her look unnaturally white. Her red lipstick was excessively bright, which in turn accented her pearly white teeth. The woman just stood at the window, looking at me, her head tilted, and smiling. 
    You know how you sometimes think of hypothetical situations and what you’d do in them? Like if a shooter walks into a movie theater, where you’d run, where you’d hide, etc.? I always did that in my room. And in every hypothetical I could think of, I had an escape plan. Yet, when this strange, child-like puppet woman showed up at my window, I was motionless with fear. My mouth immediately went dry, and chills ran down my spine (and they are again as I’m typing this). After what seemed like an absolute eternity but was probably only a minute or two, I decided that I had to do something. I slowly removed the blanket and stood up. 
    Rose remained motionless, other than her smile getting wider. I suppose me getting up was exactly what she wanted. Slowly and gingerly, almost as if I expected her to break through the window if I moved too quickly, I started walking towards her. And with every step I’d make, her head would turn to follow me. Every motion of hers was so mechanic, so… unnatural. It really is difficult to convey the absurdity of that situation. Here I was, a teenage boy in his room late at night, looking at a strange pale woman who was standing outside the window and smiling. 
    I was about to run out of my room and scream for my parents, but knowing how tense and easily excitable they are, I chose to stay quiet for the time being. I guess I didn’t want to