Untitled Story
This is fictional. It's only a short passage of a draft, I'm just practicing for now, but it could evolve into something bigger.
Sleep has the paradoxical property of releasing you from your worries, sweet release. Forget the day, forget the heart, and forget regret. Sadly enough, relentlessly, sleep returns to collect the bill when you awaken. Anguish overwhelms you, and your newly roused state leaves you in no shape to handle this wave. Anguish, the feeling I fear the most. Anguish, the product of extreme uncertainty. Anguish, the product of not knowing; not knowing why you’re afraid in the first place. Today, anguish came.
Lying on my back I ask myself, where am I? The nondescript white ceiling makes it that much harder to find my bearings. What’s happened up till now? Did I miss a few years? Am I still a boy? No, I’m 28. Why can’t I still be a boy?
The curtains, I don’t recognize them. Wait. Yes. I’m in Bogotá. I’m back here after all this time, and for all the wrong reasons, but regardless, I’m here.
It’s all coming back to me... everything. Dad, I love you. Why did you keep pushing it? Why were you so god damned stubborn? Was it worth it? Did you really make a difference?
I’d been so disoriented, that I hadn’t noticed that my pillow was wet. I touch my face, and instantly realize I’ve been crying, the anguish came early this time.
The alarm clock goes off, apparently I’ve snoozed away an hour, and I’m running late. I put on my black pants and coat. I shave, and I remember my dad shaving. I remember that day in Madrid; I wanted to do it too. I was 6 years old and felt big enough to be able to shave. He had some disposable razors and gave me one, told me to be careful, and I was, because I wanted to be just like him. I love you dad.
That day in Madrid, oddly enough, was also the same day I saw snow for the first time. The snowflakes were too frail, and the cold hardly managed to keep them from melting at the slightest touch. We were on our way to a strange land called Sweden, and all I could picture was me with 15 layers of clothes, surrounded by snow. That’s all I could picture, I was excited, but was unaware of how much that country would change me. How I would not be the same person after that. How I would never belong anywhere. My sense of belonging would forever be as frail as those snowflakes.
I apply some aftershave expecting it to turn me presentable. I guess I’m entitled to looking like crap, today of all days. Today I can curse at anyone and everyone, let my drunkard rant leave no one unscathed. They would understand wouldn’t they? They would at least ignore me, knowing that I’m in no shape to rationalize what had happened.
I take the elevator, and looking at myself in the mirror I confirm that shaving and applying some aftershave doesn’t do miracles. I’m still having trouble adjusting to the light when the elevator doors open. I see a black silhouette. It’s my mother. A beacon of warmth and happiness unlike any other I’ve ever seen, but not today. Today she’s dressed in black. She has lost her true love, her soul mate, the man she met when she was only 16. She spent the rest of her life confirming what she knew only 5 minutes into their first conversation… he was unlike any other, he was the one.
Today we say goodbye to my father, and to her one true love.
Lying on my back I ask myself, where am I? The nondescript white ceiling makes it that much harder to find my bearings. What’s happened up till now? Did I miss a few years? Am I still a boy? No, I’m 28. Why can’t I still be a boy?
The curtains, I don’t recognize them. Wait. Yes. I’m in Bogotá. I’m back here after all this time, and for all the wrong reasons, but regardless, I’m here.
It’s all coming back to me... everything. Dad, I love you. Why did you keep pushing it? Why were you so god damned stubborn? Was it worth it? Did you really make a difference?
I’d been so disoriented, that I hadn’t noticed that my pillow was wet. I touch my face, and instantly realize I’ve been crying, the anguish came early this time.
The alarm clock goes off, apparently I’ve snoozed away an hour, and I’m running late. I put on my black pants and coat. I shave, and I remember my dad shaving. I remember that day in Madrid; I wanted to do it too. I was 6 years old and felt big enough to be able to shave. He had some disposable razors and gave me one, told me to be careful, and I was, because I wanted to be just like him. I love you dad.
That day in Madrid, oddly enough, was also the same day I saw snow for the first time. The snowflakes were too frail, and the cold hardly managed to keep them from melting at the slightest touch. We were on our way to a strange land called Sweden, and all I could picture was me with 15 layers of clothes, surrounded by snow. That’s all I could picture, I was excited, but was unaware of how much that country would change me. How I would not be the same person after that. How I would never belong anywhere. My sense of belonging would forever be as frail as those snowflakes.
I apply some aftershave expecting it to turn me presentable. I guess I’m entitled to looking like crap, today of all days. Today I can curse at anyone and everyone, let my drunkard rant leave no one unscathed. They would understand wouldn’t they? They would at least ignore me, knowing that I’m in no shape to rationalize what had happened.
I take the elevator, and looking at myself in the mirror I confirm that shaving and applying some aftershave doesn’t do miracles. I’m still having trouble adjusting to the light when the elevator doors open. I see a black silhouette. It’s my mother. A beacon of warmth and happiness unlike any other I’ve ever seen, but not today. Today she’s dressed in black. She has lost her true love, her soul mate, the man she met when she was only 16. She spent the rest of her life confirming what she knew only 5 minutes into their first conversation… he was unlike any other, he was the one.
Today we say goodbye to my father, and to her one true love.
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