Prologue:
Two years ago,
He'd been driving around for the past hour, just driving, with no destination. Of course, soon he tired of that too and finally decided to head home. Parking his car, he climbed out, the grime and grit of the ground crunching under his boots. Fumbling his way through the darkness from his car to the apartment, he pushed the door aside and was greeted by his neighbour. Evan leaned against the wall as they waited for the elevator together.
"What you been up to these days eh boy?" he asked, eyes narrowing to gaze at him properly.
"Not much, you know me."
"Still doin' yer paintings? When you gonna finish one?"
He grimaced. "Can't say."
"Ya lost yer motivation agen? Young lads these days, can't seem to commit eh?" he grumbled as the elevator binged open. The young man waited for his elderly neighbour to hobble in first before stepping in after him. "I tell ya, whatch'er gonna do for a living? You lookin' for another job yet?"
"Trying." No need to add that the word 'trying' was to be used half-heartedly, much like his efforts at looking for a job.
"Well, you gotta keep at it boy! Don't get 'ter old age like me and not have a thing worth living for! Mind you, had the time a my life when I was yer age. Fell in love with the most beautiful woman. Shame she passed too soon."
The young man grimaced once more, biting back what he wanted to say. Is that why you're living a life of solitude? Or did she leave you long before that? You sure it was really love, old man?
The elevator door binged open and the young man waited patiently for his neighbour to hobble out before getting out himself.
"See you around," he waved, wishing he could remember the old man's name but shook his head and thought otherwise of it. What did he care?
When he pushed aside his door, the first thing he noticed was the light blinking on his phone. Frowning, he made his way to the one-seater in the lounge – the only seat in the lounge. He shucked his jacket and dropped it across the armrest, covering the stains in the gaudy upholstery before pushing the play button on his phone.
"… It's me…"
He froze at the sound of the man's voice. How long had it been since he'd heard that voice?
"I tried calling earlier but you didn't pick up." There was a pause. He didn't dare breath in the space of that time. "Your mother's dying." The young man's heart froze. Dying? His mother was dying? "So, I thought I should just let you know…"
Just let me know? Blood pounding to his head, the young man stormed back out the door, not even bothering to lock up. Impatiently, he pushed the button for the elevator, again and again before letting out a curse and deciding on the stairs. He was out the door and in his car, zipping down the road without a care for the speed limit. The whole time, his father's voice echoed in his head. Your mother's dying.
Within minutes, he was parked in front of his father's building, slamming the door and making his way through the double glass doors.
"Sir, excuse me, sir? That's for staff only, you can't go in through there."
The man turned daggers on the woman who'd spoken and she froze.
"Get me Arnold Turner," he hissed, voice as cold and sharp as icicles. "I want to see him now."
"I'm sorry, sir, you'll have to make an appointment-"
"Did you not hear me? I need to see him now."
"Ah-I, I'll see what I can do."
"Tell him his son's here to see him," he said with a cold, bitter voice.
The woman's eyes widened, "I, of course, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise. I'll send you to his office right away."
He stalked towards his father's office, an aura of darkness emanating from him. Without knocking, he pushed aside the door and stormed through. His father, who was seated at his desk, looked up, eyes falling on him.
"You got my message," he said.
The young man glared at his father.
"Where is she?"
"She's in a homecare centre."
"All this time, you knew where she was and you didn't tell me?"
His father didn't respond.
"ANSWER ME!"
His father still didn't flinch. The young man, shaking with anger, almost wanted to pick his father up by his shirt collar and shake some emotion into him.
"Yes, I knew where your mother was this whole time," he replied, his voice crisp and cool.
The young man heaved out, taking a step back in disbelief.
"You knew," he gasped. "Thirteen years, you knew, and you never once told me! And now, you tell me she's dying!" The man shook his head, disbelief and disgust for his father mixing into a bitter taste that wouldn't leave his tongue. "What kind of father are you? My whole life, you've been present, yet not a single birthday, a single Christmas, a single parent's evening you were there. Where were you when she needed you? Where were you when we needed you?"
He still didn't respond yet he looked back at the young man with unflinching eyes.
"And yet she was there for only eleven years of my life. She means more to me then you ever will. The one person I needed most, you took away from me because of your own damn selfishness. God, to this day, you still can't see how you drove her away!"
"I know, I owe you more than can be expressed with words. The least I can do is give you this."
His father pushed a square of white paper forward across his desk. The young man eyed it, eyed him before reaching for it and scanning the contents of the words.
"Go see your mother. You'll find her there."
"I never want to see you again after this. Never."
"If that's the case, where are you living? Do you need money?"
The young man gave a bitter cry. "Money? Money? Is that all this world is about to you? I don't want your filthy money. No amount of that can trade for the damage you've caused your family. I hate you. Words can't begin to express how much I hate you. Utter despite, a loathing that will stay with me forever, until the day you die."
"I can understand your resentment."
So that was it? He wasn't even going to defend himself?
"From this day onwards, you no longer have a son, and I, no father."
He stared at the old man before him one last time before storming out of the building.
Two months later,
He'd been driving for days, looking for inspiration. But he'd found none. City lights sparkling in the night sky, the pink sky of dusk – all beautiful scenes. Yet he felt nothing. Nothing called out to him. He'd painted it all before. Go to another country? He wished he could, but his meagre earnings didn't allow for that.
He continued to drive on down the endless road, in search of something – anything of worth. Since when had life become such a lengthy road with such meaningless scenery, he wondered. Since his mother passed away? No, things had already started to go downhill, long before that. And he blamed it all on the man who he once longed for, every birthday, every Christmas, every parent evening but never showed up. A man he once called father but no longer acknowledged. He had no such thing as a father.
Thoughts of that man caused him to grip the steering wheel too tight and he lost track of where he was going. Darkness enveloped him as he raced through a tunnel. His vision remained on the light shining ahead. But before he could reach it, there was a screech of tires. A loud crash. Pandemonium. Impact, as his body bounced back between his seat and the steering wheel like a doll being whipped around. Glass shattered around him as his body came to settle, slumped against the steering wheel. Blood dripped down the car.
Minutes later, he was rushed to the ER. Days passed. Then days turned into weeks and weeks into months. He continued to lie there.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
