Time had stood still. Or maybe it was ticking by. He was standing the same spot for what looked like centuries. The beautiful canvas of his family had shattered into bits. His flesh was staring right into his streaming eyes. His lips moving. Moving but producing no voice. Mute. It took several heartbeats for him to understand that his voice was coming from a remote land. A place he dreaded. What was happening? Was this man really his son? What was this dilemma that has posed by? The comprehension came too fast for him to comprehend. Everything had backfired.
His wrinkles were like the pleats in a curtain, which hid the experience of life behind them. His wife had departed years ago, and he just could not understand what day to mourn more? The day his wife left or the day his son turned his back to him?
"Dad? Why don't you just understand? I have a family of my own. I don't even have lucrative job to make up to all the expenses." He still could not understand. It was absurd. He still stood dumbstruck.
Rocking back and forth in the chair, he was staring at the only belonging had in this old home. Pain was locked in every chamber of his heart. Pain of destruction. He stared in the deep eyes of his wife that stared him right was the frame. And there he was. A handsome, happy young man holding his son as close as he could. But the stillness of the photograph was haunting him. Grasping his mind into ridiculously beautiful memory. A memory that had been dug into the grave long ago.
"Dad? You need to get off. I have to get back to my wife. She is waiting. This is your new home. I will pay regular visits. You know I hate this, but I have no choice left. Please dad, get going. Leave the car. The door is open. I said I will meet you soon." It surely was his conceded defeat then. His son kept on coaxing. Hoping something would sink in in the mind of this old man. Without a word, with just a mild indulgent smile he left the car.
The crevice of the bond had long ceased. He had thought his son is taking him to a long drive. How foolish of him. He just had this picture of the beautiful family he had wanted to raise. Cancer took his wife and greed took his son. He was throttled. He was empty.
His son never came. Though he had the decency to parcel him his clothes. Which he left untouched. His son owe him nothing. He was his responsibility to raise him, now the son didn't want to acknowledge his own, that didn't matter anymore.
Sinking deep in the chair, he closed his eyes, hoping to relish the diluted figure of his wife again. She had been visiting him in his dreams more than ever. A smile cracked at the side of his lips, he was soon going to his wife. He knew it. The only person who truly loved him. The person who could make up to the destruction of his heart.
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