June 06, 2089
The evening sky hung heavy over my grandfather's house, its dimming light seeping through the cracks of the wooden shutters. Inside, the quiet was stifling, broken only by the occasional murmurs of relatives gathered in the main hall. They spoke in hushed tones, their words blending into a static buzz I couldn't bring myself to decipher. Somewhere in the corner, the incense burned, its smoke curling into the air, carrying a scent that clung to my skin. It was a strange kind of suffocation—a blend of grief and obligation, of memories and finalities.
I had spent the day shadowing my father, helping him with the rituals and arrangements. He moved through the house like a man with a mission, his focus unwavering. I admired that about him—the way he could compartmentalize, shutting away whatever pain he might be feeling to get the job done. But as I watched him, I couldn't help but wonder if he was just as hollow as I felt. Did he lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, drowning in thoughts he couldn't share? Or was it just me?
"Go take a break," he said now, his voice startling me out of my thoughts. He was standing by the kitchen door, wiping his hands on a dish towel. His eyes softened when they met mine, a flicker of concern hidden behind the exhaustion etched into his face. "You've been on your feet all day."
"I'm fine," I replied automatically, though the weight in my chest told a different story.
"Seriously," he insisted, his tone gentler now. "Go sit for a while. There's nothing else to do tonight."
I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything more, and made my way to the back of the house. The small, dimly lit room where my grandfather's body lay felt colder than the rest of the house. The faint glow of a single candle illuminated his face, serene in death. I stood at the threshold for a moment, hesitating. It felt wrong to be here alone, but it also felt like the only place I could breathe.
I stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind me. The silence here was heavier, almost tangible, pressing against my ears. I sank into the chair by the window, my gaze drifting to my grandfather's still forms. His face looked different now, devoid of the warmth I remembered from my childhood. He had been a man of few words, but his presence had always been steady, reassuring. Now that steadiness was gone, and in its place was a void that seemed to echo my own.
My thoughts wandered, as they always did when I was alone. It was easier to let them consume me than to fight them. I thought of her. Her laughter still echoed in my mind; a sound so vivid it felt like it could shatter the silence around me. I could see her smile, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she was truly happy. She had been my anchor, my light in a world that often felt too dark. And now she was gone.
I had tried to move on, to let her memory fade into the background of my life. But it was impossible. Every moment without her felt like a step deeper into a void I couldn't escape. I had poured myself into distractions—singing, sketching, writing—but nothing could fill the emptiness she left behind. She wasn't just a part of my life; she had been my reason for living. And now, without her, I couldn't find a reason to keep going.
The thought crept in slowly, like it always did when I was alone. It whispered to me, a seductive voice promising relief from the pain. What if I just... stopped? Stopped pretending, stopped fighting, stopped existing? Would it really matter? The world would move on, just like it always did. People would mourn for a while, but eventually, they'd forget. Even my father, who tried so hard to connect with me, would find a way to keep going. He was strong like that.
I glanced at my grandfather's body, his stillness a stark reminder of the inevitability of death. It didn't scare me. If anything, it felt like a release. But then I thought of my father again, of the way his shoulders slumped when he thought no one was looking. He had lost his father today. Could I really add to his pain? Could I leave him to carry the weight of two losses?
The answer was clear, even if it didn't bring me any comfort. I couldn't do it—not yet. Not while he still needed me.
The door creaked open, breaking the silence. I turned to see my father standing there, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"I figured I'd find you here," he said, his voice low. He pulled up a chair beside me, settling into it with a weary sigh. "You've been quiet all day."
"So have you," I replied, my tone sharper than I intended. I immediately regretted it, but he didn't seem to mind.
"Fair enough," he said with a faint smile. "Guess it runs in the family."
We sat in silence for a while, the only sound the faint crackle of the candle. I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to say something. But what could I say? That I felt like a ghost in my own life? That every day was a battle just to keep going? That I didn't know how much longer I could keep pretending everything was okay?
"You know," he said finally, his voice soft, "your grandfather used to sit in this room late at night, just like this. Said it was the only time he could think clearly."
I glanced at him, surprised. "What did he think about?"
"Everything. Life, family, regrets." He paused, his gaze distant. "He wasn't always the strong, stoic man you knew. He had his demons, just like the rest of us."
I didn't know what to say to that. It was strange to think of my grandfather as anything other than the rock of our family. But it also made him feel more human, more real.
"I know you're going through something," my father said, his tone gentle but firm. "And I know you don't want to talk about it. But you don't have to carry it alone. You've got me, okay?"
I looked away, my chest tightening. I wanted to believe him, but the words felt hollow. How could I explain what I was feeling when I didn't fully understand it myself?
"Thanks," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper and nodding my head. It wasn't much, but it was all I could manage.
When he left the room, I was alone again. But this time, the silence felt different. Lighter, somehow. I sat there for a long time, watching the candle burn down to a stub. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself cry.
Not the silent, controlled tears I was used to, but real, gut-wrenching sobs that left me gasping for air. I cried for my grandfather, for her, for myself, my failures. For all the things I had lost and all the things I would never have.
And when the tears finally stopped, I felt... empty. But not in the way I usually did. This emptiness felt clean, like a slate wiped clean. It wasn't much, but it was something. A small step forward.
As I left the room, the faint glow of dawn was beginning to creep through the windows. A new day was coming, whether I was ready for it or not. And for now, that would have to be enough. People were going to come, I had a lot of work and can't just defer it or put in off on someone else, you would instead of me. Covering my eyes and hiding all my sorrows and pain I got up, and left the room...
to be continued.....