z
It has been quite some time since I have actually put pen to paper. Well, so to speak. Outside these four walls the world is buzzing. The sun beats down on the grounds with such strength it overwhelms the foliage. The streets are filled with tourists attracted from all over the nation. Many look happy to be basking in the heat but some express a look upon their faces that suggest the inability to walk another step in this dessert. (Dessert? I think you mean desert.)Perhaps they should have stayed home. Although I sit here planted in my chair, my eyes on my screen, my palms pressed upon the keyboard and my feet firmly grounded, my thoughts drift mindlessly somewhere between here, hometown and Asia. (<-- I really like this sentence. It creates a very vivid image and I think you wrote it well.)
Although my father and I were born on opposite ends of the scale, it's safe to say I know his ways fairly thoroughly. He loves his family very much, and his protective instincts are so strong it too is overwhelming. I can only begin to imagine what is passing through his mind as another of his sons pursues his happiness on the other side of this Earth. To raise a child, to protect it, to provide it with so much time and energy proves something draining, yet nothing else on this world could come anywhere near to it's (That should be "its". "It's" is only used when you are shortening "it is".) importance. To let that child board a plane many years later to a place they have never set eyes on before takes a sense of control that not many of us could deal with. (I'm not sure if the way you've worded it there is quite right. "A sense of control" doesn't quite seem an accurate way to describe it. Perhaps you could try re-thinking that?)
I can imagine my father lying awake; his eyes rest upon the slither of light that shines from the moons reflection in between the window pane and the curtain, his thoughts are not opaque, his thoughts are not deflected, nor scattered. They are simple. His immense concern for his son's safety. He mulls through his thoughts as he lays wide awake, not a sense of tiredness drops his eyes. He remembers the birth of his boy, like pristine picture he dwells in the memory of a perfect little boy brought into this world. Perfection at it's absolute finest, a work of art created from all the madness in this world.
My father makes an oath to himself. He shares it with no one. But he swears it upon his own mothers grave. He will protect this little boy with his own life if need be. He will protect this boy as if it were his own life. HE remembers this oath as he watches the particles drift in the moonlight, he swears he cannot break this oath, this promise. Nothing is more important in this life than his son's safety.
I can only begin to imagine what is passing through his mind as another of his sons pursues his happiness on the other side of this Earth. To raise a child, to protect it, to provide it with so much time and energy proves something draining, yet nothing else on this world could come anywhere near to it's importance. To let that child board a plane many years later to a place they have never set eyes on before takes a sense of control that not many of us could deal with.
HE remembers this oath as he watches the particles drift in the moonlight, he swears he cannot break this oath, this promise
Nothing is more important in this life than his son's safety.
Gender:
Points: 300
Reviews: 0