‘Go away! I can do this by myself!’
He clamored while spitting a few abuses out his mouth and then eventually burst into angry, loathsome tears. Both the helpers wiped him and then left him with his only pal, the nostalgia.
‘Calm down dear! They know nothing.’
The soothing whispers echoed in his ears and somehow it helped catching his breath again in some weird stealthy way. Words are like steroids. Soothing yet deleterious, he wondered.
With his usual morning dose, some multivitamins and a steaming cup of tea he leaned back in his favorite spot drowning and drowning in his vague, unclear thoughts again. The warmth of the yellow ball was somehow more pleasant today than usual but the chill inside him was forcing him to be vexed enough in order to let his exasperation out the way it should be. Staring at walking zombies like him outside the window pane, he remembered how fervent he used to be.
‘Slow down! Let me be the winner this time please?’ And how harder he used to laugh at her whiny yet innocent pleads.
Flooded with the reminiscence the quivering hand tilted the cup a little and one of the helpers rushed towards him shouting. How his Visitor once spilled milk on his shirt, started crying and how he cleaned him while making fun of his rants… and unexpectedly he smiled in dismay while clenching an old piece of plastic in his hand.
So much different stories yet similar destinations, he always used to wonder while bloating his diary with all of them. So he filled his pages with some vague smudges in his illicit writing and gazed that old snap with utterly blank stares for quite a while today.
The day was longer than usual and the memories were clearer than usual, today. Either it was a blessing or a curse in disguise he had no idea so he preferred sleeping pills over conflict and went back to the limitless lands of his yearnings. A land where he had everything, his people, his hopes, his strengths.
The warmth went warmer to chilly and so did his existence. The clock struck 7 and the finally the Visitor came with a bouquet and some groceries. The wait of the old man was finally over and it was his turn now. But all the Visitor got was some tattered photographs, an old bogie of his toy train and a dreary diary with his last ciao, ‘You’re again late, darling’.