SHORT STORIES…
Posted by Mr. Sorcerer on March 21, 2009
A little story that I wish to share with all… It’s not too long so take a glance at it! And don’t forget to drop in some comments to help me improve will you? Thank you in advanced…
So gather around folks and listen close, for this is how the story goes…
TITLE : DREAMER
“It’s my life!! Mine!!” My heart sizzled in anger while I shot a furious glare at the arrogant old man in front of me.
“And I’m your father!!” His voice boomed, louder than mine. My mother stood in between, confused on which side she should be standing on. I don’t blame her and I couldn’t care less of whom side she would be. For a moment, only the stupid mad entity before me that matter.
The argument began at the point when I said that I wanted to quit my job to follow my dream to be a writer. Well, you could say that I was an idiot who walked away from the path of life to chase my dream and I wouldn’t say that you’re wrong. However, the choice is mine and none of others’ judgment could change my mind.
I flicked my eyes to my mother before turning away towards the doorway. I managed to halt my steps right at the doorway and glanced towards my parents for one last time before I ventured into a stretching colorless and impeding land outside. My heart cried, but it didn’t reach my throat for them to hear. Bearing sadness inside my chest, I went away.
A week passed since I waded on my path of dream. None of my stories was published yet, but I never give up. Until one day, I received a phone call from my mother. My heart was thudding as she told me that my father collapsed at work and now being admitted into a hospital. Without further hesitation, I went to the hospital immediately.
Upon arriving at the hospital, I just sat at the alleyway bench, observing every people passing by, feeling too afraid to be face to face with my father again. I knew I was the last person he expected to see. Or maybe, I didn’t know what to say to him anymore, but I know that my heart was dying to see him.
Then I saw a familiar face among the crowd in front of me. A loving face that forgives every wrongdoing and sins done and not one single day goes by without I dream of that face. She halted as she saw me and quickly strode to my side.
“Why didn’t you come in?” She asked as she sat. I just averted my eyes, trying to figure out the answer that question. She let out a subtle sigh and flicked her eyes away from my side.
“Let me tell you a story of a man I knew, very similar to you…” I frowned and turned to her.
“The one who pulled magic in everything he wrote, the one who never give up his dream.” She smiled and looked at me.
“But one day, he quitted. All because his lovely little son was born. Foods must be kept on the table, so he gave up…”
A weird sensation of pain struck my chest, melting my heart with regretful sorrow I wished I shed long time ago.
“I guess, an apple doesn’t fall far from its tree…” And she patted my lap tenderly before getting up and went away.
The next day I braved myself and went inside. And on the bed he laid, barely conscious under all the sufferings. My mother quickly got up on her feet and gave me an assuring smile before she left us alone in that creepy room. For a moment, only the sound of the unknown medical equipment filled the air between us.
“Hi dad…how do you feel today?” I managed to squeeze the words out of my lips. He didn’t even react and I wasn’t sure if he heard me or not.
I strolled closer towards his bed.
“Yesterday, mom told me a story of a guy…but it didn’t end well. The guy didn’t get what he wanted because of certain reason he didn’t wish others to know.” The air still froze in silence and nothingness.
“It wasn’t supposed to be that way. So, if it’s even possible, let me pick up where he left off in pursue for the happy ending…”
I bit my lips, not knowing what else I should say to him. I guess that was it. So I turned away and closed my eyes hard before I felt a feeble poke on my back. I twisted my head towards the old man’s eyes and saw the tears he shed for me. And what he said on that very moment was a piece of words that kept me going and lifted me up again whenever I fall.
“Go my son…make me proud…”
A year later my story was published, thanks to my agents. My father didn’t live long enough to see that day coming true, hence the first copy was placed on his concrete cemetery. Everything turned out alright since and I hope somewhere, someplace nice, my father is proud and smiled down upon the path of dreams I dedicated for him.
THE END
