The knock would be on the door at midnight today. The one before your 20th birthday.
You stood at the door, hesitantly. The knocks continued, slowly but surely.
You felt blackness creeping into your mind. Your life was falling apart. You are alone.
You felt old, painful memories return. Tears began stinging your eyes. You felt like you were floating through emptiness.
You started to understand that the knock on the door was a sign, and that you must be strong. Even though you were afraid, you knew you could not give in to these feelings.
Your apprehensions were eased by the fact that you knew he was there. The man stared at you through the glass pane of the door—appearing warm and strong, yet also feeling distant. You felt like you are significant to him. You felt like he cares about you.
Yet you stop him from knocking. He looks disappointed initially, but then he nods. The knock has stopped.
You wish you could use your magic, the 'magic' that saved you three years ago at the dark beings. But you made a promise three years ago.<
Now, as you prepare to open the door to no longer see a beautiful smile, the knocks sound again. He is here.
Just as you open the door, a soft smile graces your lips. And he returns the favor. In that short moment, with that small gesture, you both feel stronger, like you can protect the world.
The man told you to wait for him in your room. On top of your bed is something silver, shining brightly like the sun. You open it, and find a small wrapped box. You don't want to open this gift in front of him—you want to it be a surprise.
Within the next 35 minutes, your mother comes home and asks you to come out with her. A smile spreads across her face. You know it: she has to show you something important; something that will change your life for good. Both hugging and smiling, you follow her down a hallway to a door that was always closed. She opens the door, and you walk inside.
You look around, but it is dark. Your mother's smile is fading away—you think you are supposed to be doing something. Suddenly, the lights come on. You see an office, quiet and empty.
You are confused, but you see your mother's smile return and stay. The only thing you do at this point is to smile. You both sit at a desk, and she hands you an envelope.
You open the envelope and read out the first line of a letter. Halfway through, she interrupts. You smile and continue.
You are stopped short. Your mouth opens, and the words "I know you are afraid, but you don't have to be alone." You look at your mother, and she smiles with tears. You have never seen her cry. She hands you another letter, and this time you read it completely.
She hands you the envelope, and you open it. Your eyes are wide. The letter is from your father.
She stops you. "He left me something very important."
She takes the letter from you and looks at it. Her eye is gleaming with tears. "I will never forget you—even after I'm gone."
Seeing your mother in pain has left you feeling sad. You want to leave this room. The only clue you're given is something gold flashing in the corner of your eye. You feel like it is calling out to you. You approach a cupboard, and the gold piece draws your gaze away from everything but it.
You walk toward the strange, shining cupboard. Inside was a red book, set atop a dark piece of green cloth. You reach out to it, and it feels warm. Perhaps—friendly.
You move your gaze to the top of the book. The word 'encyclopaedia' is written. Your hand trembles, just a little.
Unconsciously, the cover of the book is opened. Your hand moves by it, drawn to it. You feel like making this book whole again. You can't believe people will let this book be broken. You don't understand why people will not just help fix this book. You feel so angry and sad inside.
Your hand pushes through the pages, loving each crease. With your free hand, you can feel all the pieces, the places you know. You still feel angry and sad.
Your hand accidentally brushes against a page. But you are suddenly interrupted by a sound. You raise your head, and you see the outline of a small figure standing behind you.
You feel a cold feeling breeze. There is a small, frightened voice behind you.
"Ssssshhhhhh!"
The object behind you begins to feel like it is laughing. You hear it, and you can hear the cold voice, too—a voice that sounds very familiar.
You hear a small sound come from inside the cupboard. Your hand dashes through the pages, fearing the sound will startle the one behind you.
You reach your hand out in the direction the voice came from. You hear only a crackle. Your hand touches something soft.
You drop the pages. Instead of letting your hand fall, it grabs onto an object behind the pages. There is a spark of recognition. Your hand is clutching something precious.
You know what that gold object means to you. It is the precious object behind you—the one that hindered you from making the book complete. The one that laughed.
With your free hand, you pluck the object out from the pages of the book. You take the object and feel its weight. You can't believe someone would throw a precious object into this cupboard. You are so angry, but you deserve a better object. You deserve a better object.
There is a dark piece of cloth on the desk. You take it and wrap the object. You will never leave a precious object in a cupboard again.
You now turn to face the person behind you. There is an old man standing before you. You know that your hand is around something precious. His eyes grow large, and he stares in disbelief at what is in your hand. His hands wave in the air, and he tries to say something. A coldness envelops you. You feel so afraid, but you pull your precious object closer to you.
"You…YOU…!" The old man stutters. He is paralyzed in place, completely at a loss for words. Your eyes lock on his. They are laughing, mocking you. You feel so sad.
You want to help him talk, but you feel so cold. You shudder, and your hand trembles. Your hand releases the precious object, and it falls to the ground, bouncing around happily.
The old man is suddenly free. He does not fall. He does not talk. His hands wave in the air as fast as lightning. His eyes burn with fire and want. You hear him scream at you, but it is not out loud.
You feel your hands start to shake, and you want to help your hands to stop shaking. You clutch the desk tightly.
Slowly, the shaking stops. His hands stop wagging. His gasps get short.
You hold onto your hands, clenching them together. You feel so scared. The shaking starts again.
