Just something i dreamed up the other night.
There are times when it is more fun to begin telling a story from the middle so that the readers (you) would have to use their (your) imagination to guess at the beginning.
This is one of those times.
However, as much fun as it would be, it would be horribly irresponsible of me to do this, especially taking into consideration the contents of these pages. Therefore, I guess we’ll have to start at the beginning.
It was late August in my family’s beautiful house that even to this day gives me a strange feeling of warmth whenever I think about it. Grandpa was telling one of his usual nonsensical stories.
“It was 25 years ago, 1943. Back then we didn’t have Hitler, we had Buddha, and he was a whole nother kind of terrorist,” he would say in his slow southern drawl. “I had just come back from the war of northern aggression. I was under ridicule because those damn Koreans had pushed us all the way back to the Canadian border…” he would continue, as though he thought that these things had actually happened. Or perhaps he did. Perhaps he really had forgotten that he’d lived his life working as the janitor for a small law firm. Perhaps rather than believe, he hoped, even wished, that these events had truly come to pass and that he’d made more of his life than a job he didn’t enjoy.
Alas, we will never know, for that was the last story he would ever tell me. That night, he fell asleep, and I guess he decided it just wasn’t worth it to wake up again. Now I kind of wished I’d listened to his story more attentively.
The funeral was slow and boring. Not many people showed up. People must’ve forgotten about him pretty easily.
But I don’t think my father ever did.
During the funeral, it was my father who broke down and cried until his eyes were bloodshot red. Apparently the redness caused him to lose sight of the road the next morning. Next thing me and my mom knew, we were in the hospital next to my fathers bed, watching him take shallow breaths, struggling with each one. Police said that it was a freak accident, but I can’t really see a way to accidentally crash into an eighteen wheeler that’s parked at a rest stop.
But who am I to question the system.
I mourned for about a week before I realized that I was finally free from his emotional abuse. I no longer had to stay isolated from the world.
Little did I know, the world was about to change…
I should’ve stayed isolated.