The old man rose from his bed, everyday he would do the same thing. He got up, got ready, had breakfast, stared into the sky, wrote something in his diary and continued. Every time he filled a book; he would go to his “special” room filled with books, got a new book and left the old one there. This makes me wonder what is inside those books of his. Should I ask him, or should I creep in the room when he is sleeping? No, I shouldn’t go into an old man’s home without permission and read his books. But as everyone knows, resistance gets weakened over time and the urge to do something you have been longing to do gets stronger. So, I did what we all have done once, I broke the rule. I sneaked in through the open window, large enough for me to fit through, and into the room I went. In the room and took the first book I can, it read “I as a boy walked into my mother’s room to ask her for something to cheer me up. Mother replied with throwing a chair at me. The chair missed, by a slight inch. I ran outside and sat on the steps for a moment. Then, raindrops fell on my face and I couldn't tell if I was crying more than the rain was falling. Then, I just ran. Ran, until father’s truck pulled in front of me. Without thinking, the father never stopped, I did. I woke up at a hospital and waiting outside were people that cared. I waited for my family to come and see me. But who I saw were not my parents. I spent year’s with them, waiting for a response from home. I came to realise that my parents didn’t care.”
I stopped as the story killed my heart, but the silence was killing it too. I snuck out of the house and headed home. And dreamt as the reality of the man haunted me
Author Notes: Please leave suggestions
Recommend Reviews (1) Write a ReviewReport
Australia • 20 years old