In A dark windy night, An old man could be seen sitting on a bench in a park and scribbling something in a notebook of brownish pages covered in brown jacket with a feather pen, he was continuously writing raws and raws of unknown letters every second but he did not have to use ink even once, after few minutes he stopped writing and put the notebook and pen in his blazer pocket then
Started walking down the street, wearing a old brown blazer with black shirt and a black pant, he looked like a living testament to the wisdom that comes with age. His eyes, a pale shade of blue, were like clear windows to a soul that had seen the ebb and flow of many seasons. His hair, as white as the mountain peaks on a winter morning, flowed like a river of time down his back., The night was breezy and the air was filled with the fresh smell of damp soil. Leaves rustled in the wind, hinting at the rain that was about to come. The sky was dark, with clouds moving quickly across the moon. It felt like any moment, it would start to rain, blessing the dry earth with its much-needed water, the street he was walking in was dark and Silence was spread like a Weil covering the world. The only light came from the occasional flicker of a distant streetlamp, casting long shadows that seemed to whisper secrets. The air was still, heavy with the promise of rain, and the pavement glistened like a path of obsidian, reflecting the few brave stars that dared to twinkle in the somber night sky. It was as if time itself had paused, waiting for something, or someone, to break the spell of tranquility that enveloped the city. , but seeing all type of houses around, the street should be pretty lively around the day, After walking for a while he stopped in front of house , it was not particularly big, but still biggest in the whole street, it was decorated quite well with different colours as if the residents were celebrating something, the railings, of the house were open, apon entering the railings, there could the seen a small Courtyard, not particularly eye-catching but the plants were healthy and taken care of well, after reaching the door old man knocked the door a few times, after few seconds the door opened, a beautiful lady appeared in the field of vision, woman whose beauty is deepened by the experiences of life and love. Her eyes reflect a soul that has known joy and commitment. The lines of her face tell stories of laughter shared and challenges faced together. The woman, kind-hearted and always ready to help, opened the door to find an old man with a face etched by the tales of time. His clothes were worn, his shoulders hunched from the weight of unseen burdens. Mistaking his appearance as a plea for alms, she offered a compassionate smile and said, "Please wait here for a moment." Her voice was soft, touched with the grace of goodwill, as she turned to fetch something to ease his journey, not realizing he was no beggar, but perhaps a bearer of stories untold. After a minute or two she came back, now with a man wearing an expansive looking suit alongside her, he looked like a man whose appearance wouldn't turn heads in a crowd. His features were unremarkable, his build average, and his attire plain. Yet, there was an unmistakable air of self-interest that seemed to form a barrier between him and the world. However, this facade melted away in the presence of his wife. With her, his eyes softened, his touch gentler, and his actions kinder. He became a man transformed by love, devoted and attentive, proving that beauty and worth are often found in the eyes of the beholder, he came to the door, pulled out a wallet and took out a 100 dollar bill and said, I do not usually give money to anyone but today is wife's birthday and she requested me to give you, so be thankful to her, but the old man did not even looked at money as if it was most worthless thing to him, and shook his head, The man looked a little dazed at seeing a beggar reject money, normally they would jump to obtain the money the first time they see it, "what" is it not enough, said the man, "For wealth is fleeting, as the autumn's dying hues, And what we clutch today, tomorrow we must lose. It's not the gold that fills the hand, that measures truest wealth, But love, and joy, and memories, the spirit's quiet health" I don't need money just a place to stay at night, Said the old man in the voice as deep as sky, his voice seems to suck the soul away mesmerizing the couple, breaking the trance the man saiI'm sorry old man but we're currently celebrating my wife's birthday so I could not let you in, Why would you not let a poor old man in, it's so late at night and it's about to rain he will get ill if he stayed out in rain, Said the woman, dear, if we let any other random Stanger in, our house would not be a house anymore, said the man, I will call MOM if you don't let him in, said the woman, As his wife's words hung in the air, a subtle tension gripped his chest, a familiar anxiety creeping in. The mention of his mother wielded a power all its own, one he knew all too well. A nervous flicker danced in his eyes, a silent plea for mercy from the impending threat. With a swallowed gulp, he relented, knowing the consequences of defying his wife held far less weight than the wrath of his formidable matriarch."
Ok, ok I'll let him in, but just for one night, said the man
The woman smiled brightly and said, thank you dear,
they took the old man inside, the inside was expensive and well decorated there were two stairways on the both side leading up to, several rooms, the hall wan not big, around 50 yards but was well decorated, two couch could be seen in the middle of the hall, A couple was already sitting on one of them, they walked inside, And the man introduced himself and others, I'm, Nathen Stone, this is my wife Sarah Stone, and they are our neighbours Ana wells and her "wi" i mean husband David Wells, Said nathen with a hint of mockary, Devid, looked at nethan with scorn and said, Is he one your "fa", Friends too, Ana Looked at devid with a hint of warning and turned to nathen with smile and said, yes Mr. Nathen introduce your friend to us too,
Yah i forgot about that, He was standing outside and asked to stay tonight and you know how Sarah is, she do not like to see anyone in hardship, Sir would you be so kind to introduce yourself, A king may share a name with one who begs for bread,
A hero's title with a villain left for dead.
The weight of expectation, a burden it may bring,
Yet fails to define the spirit, the soaring, hidden wing, I'm called The Storyteller