Keywords

Nothing beats the intriguing smell of a fresh apple cinnamon that leaves a tingling sensation on your nose. The same experience that you get from lighting a scented apple cinnamon candle in your bedroom. Imagine if this smell came from a young lady in fitted-white cocktail dress on a Sunday morning at this small local café. I need some time to get used to my surrounding and its people, because 31 days has not been enough for me to discover. Frankly, it was my very first time sighting a flashy chic in this café.

I was having a selective attention on my to-do list, jotting down my next week’s errands and daily activities before this 20 something porcelain-look lady sat next to my table. I glanced at her who was busily tapping the keyboard on her smartphone. “Probably a local rich kid whose father owned the biggest scented candle factory” I thought. It was not long enough until another lady that might have been her clone sister in black cocktail dress came with two paper cups and sat in front of her.

I couldn’t believe I have been unconsciously goggling them for seconds, astounded by their unusual appearance until I decided to sip my coffee and get back to my pen and paper. But other than the scented smell, their soft murmur intrigued me as well.

“So you want to get it done by tonight?”, the lady in black began talking in a hushed tone.

“Yes. 12 am sharp”

“But we haven’t got enough heads”

“That’s why we’re here you idiot”

To my surprise, that was not what I thought I would hear. So I decided to keep my elephant ear wide open.

“Fine. Let me do a double check on our fall collection stocks. I’m afraid we haven’t got enough strands of gold”,

“Ugh, I can’t believe it”, hissed the lady in white

“Okay sorry, I got it. We’re here for black”

“Define black”

“Thick medium-short black—“

“I mean, artificial black”,

To my surprise once again, these twin ladies probably not the twin daughters of a scented candle factory billionaire. They might have been the owner of a branded boutique downtown.

“Good. But please don’t be obvious looking”

“Darling, we already are”

Then they burst out laughing. Their annoying yet suspicious laughter unbelievably kept me curious. As their ongoing laughter were getting more vivid to my ears, I noticed that there were only 4 costumer left in this café, including me.

“Okay stop. What’s next?”

“The checklists”

“Read it please”

“They’re waiting outside. Two of them. With Rope. Chloroform. Handkerchieves. Electric shock. More than ready”

“All checked”

“Utensils?”

“Like usual. Chainsaw”

“12 AM sharp, Yes?”

“Perfect”

I gulped down hard as I can hear my thumping heart has gone on race. I started to clear my throat and trying my best to un-listen to their conversations. But I can’t, cause now I realized that I was not eavesdropping anymore. I was clearly listening to a strange yet odd conversation between two ladies.

“What’s next?”

“The countdown, my dear”

“Explain to me”

“In ten minutes. Realization kicks in”

“What happens now?”

“Heart racing, probably questioning”

I cleared my throat again. Anxious, I placed the palm of my hand on my left cheek whilst staring only at my pen and paper.

“Tell me more”

“Still questioning and trying not to listen—“

“And stopped jotting down—things”

Goosebumps. Heart racing. Anxiously sitting. Yes, they were talking about me. I can even feel their eyes on me. Though I know I must be wrong. I don’t want to glance at them, anymore. So I decided to gaze around the small café. Looking for that sense of ‘normal’ situation or a sign of hallucination. But I only came to a sight of an old man leaving this place and made his way safely across the street. I shook my head in disbelieve as I realized that there are only three people left in this cafe. The two ladies and me.

“Start the countdown”

“Oh we’re already starting, my dear”

“Our last locks collection is here”

I could feel that pain on my chest as I was trying to connect the dots and the keywords in their odd conversation. A sudden chills ran down on my spine.

I must say, nothing beats the unutterable feeling of realizing that you are the medium- short black hair left in the room. Nothing beats the indescribable feeling of knowing that this is how I will end.