He sat on his hospital bed, wary of the mysterious grey box placed on his study table. With the help of his walker, he slowly stumbled over to it with a slight tremble in his feet; away from the sympathetic eyes, alone he felt safe in his sanctuary-where no one would get baffled by his age. Quivering, he clutched the chair and sat with a soft but painful sigh.
Carefully he lifted the note that was pasted on the box, reading the letters engraved in them: 'I found this for you. Please, just... do the right thing.'
Curiosity rose in his mind. He lifted an eyebrow as he read the name on the bottom: 'Seb'. Feeling the smooth surface of the box, he clicked the locks open, a smirk growing on his tired face, his mind bursting with anticipation, fingers twitching with excitement. As soon as he opened the box, tears started to form in the corner of his eyes as he stared at the long-lost family heirloom: a rustic typewriter.
"I will... do the right thing... Seb," His voice cracked.He aligned the white sheets on the typewriter, his tears now slowly crawling down his cheeks as he remembered his mother typing on it. The only music capable of soothing him echoed in the empty room as he typed: "The Iceberg"