It became clear when the swinging stopped and the strings grew taut. My son, this letter to you hides a part of that truth.
The sky was blue, dotted with scattered clouds that made it even more beautiful. In the heart of the city stood a building meant for the most hopeful souls. Pin-drop silence hung over the area, broken only by the distant wail of an ambulance and the hurried footsteps of workers.
Jez, a lean, middle-aged man with dark skin, raised his head to catch a ray of sunlight filtering through the window. The scent of roses lingered in the room, stirring memories of his journey toward hope. Thoughts raced; the life gone astray lay buried in his head. He moved closer to the window, sat down, drew the curtains, and looked outside. The glimmer of peace had found him late—too late—near his demise. The scattered clouds and bright blue sky reminded him of where his fate had been decided.
It was a bright day, just like any other. Jez woke up and watched it all happen in front of him. That moment sank into him, deep, and never left. He was among those left with mouths agape. The loss of his beloved father—who had stood between the life Jez wanted and the life his father wanted for him—hit him hard. His father was gone, and it was quick, because it had been done as planned.
All that was meant for his father was now his. He rose slowly and cried like the rest. It did not bother him; it only made him happy. His friends had orchestrated it skillfully, and it had gone down without suspicion from anyone—or so they believed. For months they had been planning it, telling themselves they were removing a man who was valuable, yes, but always underestimated in their lives.
The sound of a nurse's footsteps and the smell of perfume pulled Jez from the fantastical world. She drew near, stopped at the edge of the bed, and said, "Jez, how are you feeling today?"
"I'm feeling a little dizzy, but I'm fine," Jez said softly.
"It will be alright; just be a little patient and take more rest," the nurse said before leaving the room.
When the door closed, Jez opened his mouth and spoke what echoed in his mind—the voice was coming. The spirit of his dead father surged through his unbalanced head; he rose slowly and spoke what it demanded. It struck hard on both sides. Everyone on this earth tastes it—mostly bitter, but even the sweet is no better. They reach for the candle's light, only to find no lighter to ignite it, and so they choose darkness over uncertainty. The crawl toward the candle is marked by ups and downs, but beyond it lies a mystery few will ever figure out.
The voice vanished, and the calm atmosphere returned. Yet the cry inside him grew more frequent; the road within him grew more cracked. The valley of dismay was a road he still needed to cross. The voice of his dead father echoed in his head for as long as he could hold it. The echoes were vivid, and the love was still there—given by his father despite everything his son had done—though the pot had already broken.
The day it was first spoken aloud, when that cry first took root in his mind, it became clear to him. The voice of his late father stung deep into the flesh; the pain was unbearable, because the guilt of the sin never went away. He sat on his little bed, and slowly he fell asleep—right before the consequences came, and before his own mind turned the room into hell.
Once there existed a sphere large enough to withstand the burden it held. Time ticked, and the surface grew foul, and more so above it. Its constituents darkened it daily; every flaw dirtied its purity. Time elapsed and gave rise to a system, and that system eventually controlled it, with belief passed from one constituent to another becoming their way. They thrived day by day, believing all would go well, but it was in constant motion; slowly, everything unfolded just as it was foretold. The constituents yearned to see, only to see others' flaws. Jez thrived in it, and many like him. The day was awful, but he needed to sail through the storm.
It was a dark night. The noise echoed menacingly in his mind. Jez had been out of prison for medical treatment, since the toll of it all behind bars had deteriorated his health. He was sick from the ailment, and he himself was its cause. Jez was rushed to the nearby hospital to receive his medication and possibly return to serve his sentence. It was a day like any other, when the clock ticked and the time arrived for the tale to be told and a story to be narrated. The sun slowly rose from the east, and then the saga erupted.