TO THE LAST SYLLABLE

The shade of the mist surrounding my memory of his last words was as grey and scattered as the morning after a heavy rain. The type that makes the inexperienced and veteran lost, robbing them of hope, plundering them of home.

It's amazing how that seems to be the only thing clear, even after trying years and years after. That is the extent of what I can remember, much to my disappointment. I don't know why I'm not giving up at this point really, but I really want to remember those words. I want to hear it again, I want to understand it's meaning, engrave it's every syllable on my soul. I miss him.

But something more pressing haunts and scares me so.

I am being kicked out.

It's been four years since I strike out in the city. A window of opportunity opened for me through an old friend with exceedingly good contacts and I got a good job. Of course, I had to move out. I'd rather stay at the house of my parent's to be frank, but this is just too good of an opportunity to pass, so with a heavy heart I packed my things and closed the door behind me. I left my ancestral home and lived in the city.

That changes today.

The landlord of my apartment suddenly decide to sell off the building out of the blue and in 'consideration' to it's tenants, gave us a week to pack and find a new place. Not all of us are happy, of course. In fact, none of us really liked what happened, but what can we do really? We tried protesting, but to no avail. We don't want that one week lessened as well, so we had to be careful with our words. 

It's going to be a real hassle finding a new place to live, so I contacted my superiors and after explaining my situation they became considerate and grant me leave. 

I had nowhere to go in the city and I would really hate to bother my acquaintances, even for a few days. You'd think four years would be sufficient to prepare you for such a situation, but nope. After extensively looking at my options I found the old key to my parent's. A wave of nostalgia hit me and it just came crashing down once again. Everything, my joys and frustration in that house. The selected memories I remember. My desire to remember more.

"It looks like I'm going home" 

I voiced out my thoughts to the wind and smiled. This might not be that bad of a situation after all.

I packed my things and reminded me of the day I left in the first place. How the fireplace was crackling as I folded my clothes, the birds around the house chirping, and the dogs of my faraway neighbours greeting guests, or I presume that is as I can hear their distant barks and howls. It's exactly as it is now, except the fireplace is replaced the TV, the birds, well birds, and the dogs with each passing loud vehicle in front of the building. I finished packing and said my farewell to my neighbours. We weren't that close but courtesy demands it and it's the nice thing to do.

I walked to the station, bought a ticket, and listened to a myriad of songs while waiting for the bus. It arrived soon after and I boarded it, looking for a window seat, who would want to spend hours looking at the bus after all? The scenery outside is, without a doubt, more interesting. It was seven hours of travel and finally, I step out of the bus and is here. 

The cool air of the countryside greets me the moment I placed my foot down. I took a deep breathe and it all sink in. 

I am back

I am scared

But never the less, I put one step forward, then another, until I am walking toward my place and after quite some time, the front door is right in front of me.

I have arrived.

The large wooden door is intimidating as usual and the various ornaments that decorated it and it's surroundings doesn't help. This is a door to a fortress or so I thought was the idea of the one that made it had in mind. One can almost faint in its sight really, but not me. This had been my home for about eighteen years of my life before I moved away and instead of fear, I felt excitement and chills. I grabbed the key and opened it only for a loud creaking sound to be ensued, followed by a cloud of dust, and creaky floor boards when I entered. I forgot that I didn't exactly assign anyone to take care of this place in my stead so, of course, it'd be dusty. I coughed and cursed ay my young self for not realizing and my current self for the cleaning activities he will do. I needed to get to work so I could rest sooner and that I did. I rolled up my sleeves and cleaned the entire house and by the time I was finished, I was bathing in my own sweat and is fatigued enough to just lie down on the floor and sleep. A family portrait stopped me though and instead of resting for the night, I decided to eat a meal and looked at the house, now with dust out of the picture, literally.

I looked at the picture and imagined them smiling. I grinned at what I am doing but laugh at what I though to do right after. The picture rests on top of the fireplace and is leaning against the wall instead of being hammered on it's side or hanged by a nail. Though the idea was hilarious, I raised myself using a nearby chair and grabbed the picture, or the portrait really, no matter how heavy it is. I placed it on the floor and after quite a bit of panting due to its weight, I admired and examined it closely. My parents were frowning of course, but their eyes strangely shine. I wasn't born when they got this done as I wasn't in it and as far as I can remember, albeit meagre, it's has always perched the fireplace, never to be touched nor disturb. 

Imagine my reaction when I found out then and there that what was behind it's woody framework was none other than, glass. I was surprised to say the least and was more curious than ever. It wasn't the kind of glass that you go in front of to change your hair. More than giving reflections, it seemed to be the kind of glass that you'd don your house with to see the outside world and for the sun to shine in. As if in cue, it shined. It shined like the sun in the morning after a long and dark night. As if the sun, after being shackled, was unleashed, and bask everything in it's fiery hue. After getting myself adjusted to the now bright light that is within my living room, I peered in and what I saw was a sight I didn't thought possible. 

It was my parents, alive and well. 

They were dancing to a music only the both of them can hear. My father is smiling, ear to ear! And my mother has her close, or that's just how small her eyes were. I couldn't tell what was happening. This, this portrait and this window is something I wouldn't, no-

"What is happening"

I was stunned and kept on staring. My father then opened his mouth to speak but before I could hear him, headaches plagued me. It felt as if someone is pounding a hammer in both my temples and I howl in pain. I could see mists, a foggy environment, I could see my parents. They are talking, I could hear them, I-

I fell down the floor. I heard a big thud and my body ached but the images continued to flow in and, 

"I had to snap out of this.

I closed my eyes and will it all to end, I thought of the mirror, and everything, everything after too, and-; it's gone. I am on my knees, panting and shivering like crazy. I mustered what strength I have and stood up. I had to see the mirror again, they are alive and well for goodness sake! I walked up onto it and an ever so familiar sight awaited me.

It was my father, beside him was myself. It was in a hospital and he had these various apparatus inside and around him. It was quite the scary sight. I seemed to have been sleeping by his side as he stroked my hair and looked at me fondly. He began to speak and my eyes widened as I realize what this was, where and when this was. It was his last day. I tear up, my younger self still sleeping silently.

"Take care of your mother, I am leaving her to you"

"Don't forget to eat three meals a day, you have a habit of missing two of them"

"Chin up and walk with pride, you will be everything and more"

"I love you, son"

He breathed his last. I couldn't move. My tears are flooding in, I- 

"I love you too"

The mist surrounding that memory cleared up to reveal a bright and sunny day, the fog upon which the brave and frail consider their bane, surrenders, and they are home. 

I am home.