The Last Memory

Books, Entertainment, Family, friendship, Leisure, Lifestyle, Relationship, Teens, Writings

Prologue

I wish there is a sign that tells me when to stop looking out for someone. I wish there is a police officer that stops me and charges me when I drive too fast. I wish I have a mother who nags me to chase after my dream and to look after myself. I wish I have a brother and a sister that reminds me of how I want them to see the beauty of this evil-stricken world. I wish there was a time when I actually thought of saving myself from the destruction that awaits me, but then again, there’s none. There’s no one. Nada. I continue to walk past the grocery store that offers different variety of Korean foods. No one notices me but I remember every detail that holds the moment, our moment. Every once in a while, I ask myself why did I have to come at this point where I have no one beside me. A voice inside me screams that at one time in my life, this is what I wanted. I have a choice. And this is what I chose.

As slowly as the darkness engulfs the beautiful bright sky, the horizon has the different shades of color fighting over who to dominate. I stare at it and study the vista that is dominated by magenta and has a touch of orange, killing the cyan that lies beneath the other colors. My palm twitches just looking at the pigments dominating what used to be a peaceful and calm shade of blue. But then I know within a minute or two, darkness will take over the sky only leaving us with the tiny dots from a star far away. I slip in my car and start the engine immediately, trying to warm myself inside. Though I know there’s no use since I am cold from the inside, I still try. Just like how I try to bring back the life I have before I ended up alone, and empty. I sigh and drive my way to the apartment that I think is small enough for me not to feel the desolation that won’t go away. Upon entering the room, I quickly pull out my painting materials: palette, canvas, paint brushes, oil paint, and the Lilo and Stitch rag that reminds me of… nevermind. I hold the palette on my left hand and push out the three monotonous colors that basically define my life right now—white, black, and gray. I close my eyes trying to envisage the silhouette of the face of the man who holds a biggest part of my heart, Daddy.  I start brushing the whole canvas with gray, and I try to darken some parts of it. When I finish brushing the whole, I dip my pointed brush to a splatter of black oil paint and smoothly draw Daddy’s feature. A smile slowly crept up on my lips remembering how he keeps on insisting that I try charcoal painting instead since I only use the three colors. Had I said yes and did charcoal painting; my Daddy smiling and proud of me may have been my last memory of him. But I didn’t. Did or did not, I love you still, Daddy. I’ll come back and change that last memory.

(Thoughts? Should I continue? Leave a comment below!)

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