I held it tightly, trembling, pressing harder and harder on my temple each time more daring than the last. All stood still as if a silent winter coated land, a land who then slowly reduced to nothing but its hopeless wish. Briefly flourishing in my mind were the flashes of a warm light soothing the brief screams of undying pain. What beauty it resembled: a mother’s kiss, a child’s laugh, a flower’s smell, a mountain’s view, a water’s taste! luring me, convincing me, reminding me; Why am I here? What am I doing? Dazed and confused, I hurled it away which was followed by a lowed crash from the end of the room. It was quiet. It was dark.

I was a single child under care of a mom who cheated and mistreated my dad, a heavy drunkard. My dad, being a respected army officer, was an extremely intelligent man. He would take me to parks and hold my hand and sing to me and watch over me. Mother was a different story. Her sunken, worn out eyes glared at my freshly bruised right arm as she was holding that long, beaded belt. The pain was not from the bruises nor the yells of offence but the cold, wide smug on her face. That wicked smile; It froze my very heart where it stood.

The clashes loud enough to be heard from the hall outside ensured that every moment of every day they grabbed bits of each other's souls...along with mine. The echoing voice of my mother screaming "This is your fault!” echoed in my chambers for nights.

Persuaded, I thought I might end it, an end might seize this pain. Again in that corner I was threatened by my own devilish hands. But there was no silence, no silence from the sea of distorted cries unleashed.

I was then distracted by a voice so utterly distinct, it perplexed me. Its faint voice spoke to me with concern. It said “I know very well, from experience, you are an intelligent boy. There is no question why you should be proud. And it worries me, but it seems to me your emotions are more saddened than proud. You know I am here for you, as I have always been. Before your next class I want you to know this; no matter the hardship there will always be a gateway to happiness. Find it and tranquil will be yours. Now hurry!”

Taken aback, I released my grip which skimmed my coat and hit the rug beneath my feet with a thud. Shrieks of confusion tore opposing feelings apart. Soon, a memory appeared but this time it was clear. My dreadful past was unraveling.

Near to the end of my school life, my dad had severe physical issues. His unusual breathing and sore gums were not noticed until he had constant aches in the chest.

His doctor diagnosed him with heart disease, words so deeply engraved in me for many years to come. Weekly visits became more and more speechless as he lay sideways on a white foam, evidently slipping slowly into a peaceful slumber while I stood watching.

My breaking point, however, came in spring that year after an unexpected call at 1:20 AM informing me “your father requests your presence at the hospital”. Fear and hopelessness in that soundless drive pervaded me until I met a familiar unwelcoming door. When the creeks of it sounded, on that same white foam my pale handsome father slept with bloodshot eyes.

Shivering in the coldness of my own life, I dragged my way back home. Snippets of a remarkable time spent with him passed from room to room. Unable to hear his brittle last whispers, unable to feel his last dying kiss.

These were the memories who ended me up where I was; In the corner of a small room, with it staring down my skull. And again with two simplistic choices ripping me apart; do or don’t.

I worked in accountancy for a trading company for almost 11 years. My stay was accompanied by friends and a moderate salary, but something never set right for me. Every morning coming to work my face held a false grin typing black numbers on white grids in a computer. Something about the long, tedious lifestyle and confined thoughts was underwhelming. I was always convinced by others that I would fit well in an office; I always thought I would too.

But what truly made me think this way was the shocks of exasperation running down my spine when the “man in charge” demanded a task. A malicious voice pumped with the suffering of all but him grieved my days in that dreaded building. He conjured hatred which conjured anger so that one day it accumulated to a singular, fulfilling swipe of the fist. How large of a grin I possessed when that stream of his own blood creeped down from his thin, parched lips.

When exiled from that prison it seemed I was free, or so I thought. Day to day turned into week to week searching hopelessly for a job. Penniless nights of starvation drove me desperate. Shortly, I returned to selling miserable plastic toys to afford myself in a motel where I then would settle and call home.

My breath trembled with fear when it uncomfortably poked my upper throat. I knew there was too much lost to be gained back. I knew the life I dreamed of was never meant to be. A blaring wail had tears falling faster and harder to their abrupt end below me. I was so sure, so certain that this object was my true gateway to happiness. I aimed it, inhaled and…

*ring ring*

I halted and listened.

*ring ring*

Bewildered by this sound I crawled to the phone. Nobody would call me. No one knows I exist, except…

*ring ring*

my heart raced with the fear of the possibility. There was no chance it could really be him after all these years, that it could really be my son.

*ring ring*

Then in a highly pitched tone I answered “Hello?”

“Hi Dad! Mom and I were wondering if we could make turns to spend time with each other since your all alone. Is that fine with you?”

I replied stuttering “Ssure, ii’d love that…”

“Great, I’ll tell Mom. Thanks Dad!”

*beeeeeeeep*

At that moment I laid powerless against the nearest wall comprehending the words I heard. Does he really want me back in his life? Do they recognize the troubles I face? Was that real? With it in my hands I sat unresolved and uncertain at the present, but to me this was clear; the one thing I do know is that the life I lived ensured I am still here.