I don't know how many of you have read the book by Mario Puzo, The Godfather, or seen the movie by the same name. There is a particular part of the movie that I found particularly gruesome, and although I enjoyed the book, I completely could not accept the distate that I felt when I read it. Imagine when it came true in real life for me. But I get ahead of myself, (as usual, I do love to rant it would seem!)
Let me describe this extract from the scene. It made me almost put the book down. Imagine that. It a scene that reflects the power of the godfather, how the underworld manipulates, cajoles and then scares a man, (a producer at that) to their bidding. What especially put me off was not the terror that was created by it. That amazed me, but what did repulse me was the description of blood, the mist that added to it and the fact that he is covered in the warm sticky red liquid, almost bathed in it when he wakes up! I mean the image was just too grotesque for me to accept.
I woke to the exact same thing! Well, almost the same. What woke me up was movement in my bed. It was a lazy lazy afternoon, a Sunday, a holiday. I love my day off in the week. It is the only day when I get to wake up at 2 pm. A lot many people have told me that it isn't healthy, my father screams at me through the telephone, when I answer groggily at 1 30 pm. We live in different cities, allowing me to give my dad heart palpitations and still get away with it every week! Coming back to story, (I am digressing a lot today, ain't I?), as I mentioned before, what woke me up was movement and flutter in my bed. Now My bed is usually cluttered, and I thought that my foot had gotten tangled or something that woke me up. Imagine as I untangled myself from the blanket, I felt something something wet, not just on the blanket, but also on my nightshirt, against my skin.
Thinking my water bottle had leaked, I opened my protesting eyes, lifting my heavy eyelids, looking for the culprit that I thought must be crushed somewhere. Imagine when I saw a hazy mess of red and grey on my bed (I can barely see without my glasses). I groped for my glasses, shook my head, sure that I was still half asleep or dead or something and the next second I was jumping out of bed, screaming murder and trying to get away from my bed as fast as I could. At 8 am. On a Sunday.
The pigeon that had been fluttering, screamed harder than me, if that is a possibility and fell from the bed, quickly scampered under it still screaming. My flat mates banging on the door, I tried to close my still open mouth, pleading my heart to slow down. Gingerly opening the door, I stepped out, explained as my flat mates went into my room. No one would believe me u see! Like you could make this up! Anyways, I re-entered my room and surveying my bed. It was a pool of the poor creature's blood, the wall was splattered with sprays of the same dark shade and my room looked more goth than I would ever want it to.
Trying to pry it from under the bed so we could heal it, or aid it was the next task. Not as easy as I would have assumed, it was more difficult to figure out who was more scared. We both screamed, my flatmates screamed, and when we finally got it to move, everybody screamed some more. Finally we called the nearest animal care, they came, they rescued, we cheered, they left!
What was left behind was just a mess. I scrubbed the floors, the sheets were ruined, the wall still has certain drops of blood that I just can't seem to wash away. It was a Sunday which I will remember forever as the bloody bath day, and one which I wouldn't want to revisit even if it included Hugh Jackman as a phantom in the background.
Let me describe this extract from the scene. It made me almost put the book down. Imagine that. It a scene that reflects the power of the godfather, how the underworld manipulates, cajoles and then scares a man, (a producer at that) to their bidding. What especially put me off was not the terror that was created by it. That amazed me, but what did repulse me was the description of blood, the mist that added to it and the fact that he is covered in the warm sticky red liquid, almost bathed in it when he wakes up! I mean the image was just too grotesque for me to accept.
Thinking my water bottle had leaked, I opened my protesting eyes, lifting my heavy eyelids, looking for the culprit that I thought must be crushed somewhere. Imagine when I saw a hazy mess of red and grey on my bed (I can barely see without my glasses). I groped for my glasses, shook my head, sure that I was still half asleep or dead or something and the next second I was jumping out of bed, screaming murder and trying to get away from my bed as fast as I could. At 8 am. On a Sunday.The pigeon that had been fluttering, screamed harder than me, if that is a possibility and fell from the bed, quickly scampered under it still screaming. My flat mates banging on the door, I tried to close my still open mouth, pleading my heart to slow down. Gingerly opening the door, I stepped out, explained as my flat mates went into my room. No one would believe me u see! Like you could make this up! Anyways, I re-entered my room and surveying my bed. It was a pool of the poor creature's blood, the wall was splattered with sprays of the same dark shade and my room looked more goth than I would ever want it to.
Trying to pry it from under the bed so we could heal it, or aid it was the next task. Not as easy as I would have assumed, it was more difficult to figure out who was more scared. We both screamed, my flatmates screamed, and when we finally got it to move, everybody screamed some more. Finally we called the nearest animal care, they came, they rescued, we cheered, they left!What was left behind was just a mess. I scrubbed the floors, the sheets were ruined, the wall still has certain drops of blood that I just can't seem to wash away. It was a Sunday which I will remember forever as the bloody bath day, and one which I wouldn't want to revisit even if it included Hugh Jackman as a phantom in the background.
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