Forward, Mr. Quixote!

The old man jolted awake as the persistent banging grew ever louder. "We're here for the princess!" shouted the bandits, the cruel and barbaric tone of their voices converging into one. The old man scoffed as he rose from his wooden throne.

"Blasted thieves! You will never breach this room!"

After unsheathing his sword and flourishing it through the air, the old man took off in the direction of the large wooden door that led into the throne room. The siege had been going on far too long and the old man's sanity was running thin. "Curse these brigands," he remarked as he approached the door.

Earlier in the siege, the old man had moved whatever he could find in front of the door, barricading it as much as possible and ensuring that entry was near impossible. "You'd need a dragon to tear down this door!" bragged the old man. The banging, however, brought a wave of doubt into his mind.

Feeling fear take root in his heart, he shook his head and looked back towards the reason he fought so hard.

On the other side of the room, following the beautiful marble floor which ran along brilliant pillars of gold, there was his wooden throne, however, behind that rested a medium-sized door, about the same height as the old man.

He hadn't entered this door since the siege began, and for whatever reason, he couldn't remember what was inside of it. He just understood that he had to protect it.

His thought was interrupted by a loud cracking sound. The large wooden door protecting him was beginning to fall apart. "No!" he screamed, running forward and desperately pushing, trying his hardest to somehow prevent the door from falling.

The banging sounds were so loud, it was as if the bandits were inside of his head, bringing their battering ram down on his brain.

The crack spread until eventually it fractured and the door crumbled alongside all the reinforcements the old man had desperately put together.

The old man wasted no time, he stepped back, bringing his sword in front of him. "I won't let you!" he yelled, his eyes burning from the dust and debris kicked up by the fallen door.

His mind raced with fear, but his will to stand tall in service to...whatever was behind that door behind the throne grounded him and guided his sword forward.

"Don't you think it's been enough time?" remarked the bandits in unison

Peering through the dust, the old man made out a single person.

"Come forth you crook! I'll cut you down where you stand!"

There was silence for a few seconds as the dust cleared, the old man on high alert and the bandit holding still.

"You don't mean that, dad"

The dust cleared and the old man looked forward, his eyes widening as he realized who the bandit truly was.

"No...you've betrayed me!" yelled the old man, his legs growing weak and his heart beating now with a hint of agony.

The old man's son walked forward, a pained look in his eye, "Dad, you need to stop this."

The old man continued backwards, never taking his eyes off of his son, "You mean to take her don't you," the old man shouted, unsure of who exactly he spoke of.

"No dad, there's nothing to take anymore. You need to snap out of it."

The old man's mouth began to open, a million thoughts failing to translate into words. He shook his head before quickly turning around and running towards the door at the back of the room, tears falling down his cheeks as he jumped forward, grabbing the door handle and twisting.

Inside the room was a single, wooden table on which a white envelope rested. The old man started forward, reaching for it before it was swept away by his son.

"This envelope is driving you crazy!" shouted his son, pushing the letter into his pocket.

The old man shrunk back and then ran out the door tripping towards the comfort of his throne, yet it was no longer there. The throne had been replaced with an office chair.

The old man, stunned, looked around as the marble floor shifted into a tan carpet, and the gold pillars morphed into a gray sheet of wallpaper.

The chair, facing the broken door, was surrounded by what looked like children's drawings of fantastical creatures. A white bookshelf appeared, overrun with books in the corner; blending well with the gray walls.

The old man collapsed to the floor, "Where has it all gone!" he wailed, crawling towards the coffee table at the center of the room, "What have you done!?"

Grasping at the table, the old man found a picture of a woman.

Before having time to identify her, he felt a hand on his back. "Dad, I think it's time you got some rest, I'll deal with the movers, so please..."

"Why are you taking her?" cried the old man, the weight of reality now crushing his chest.

"No one is taking anything dad. You've been held up in this room for hours and the movers are getting impatient. Just come with me, please. I'll take you home."

The old man reluctantly picked himself up and took his son's hand, walking through the broken door, down the barren hallway, and towards the front door.

Walking outside, the bright sun nearly blinded the old man. Staggering for a second, he found his way to the passenger side of the car and sat in the comfortable leather seat.

His son exchanged a few words with the men in gray outfits in the front garden before turning towards the car and walking towards the drivers seat.

As the car took off along the road, the man's son reached into his pocket and took out the letter. "If it helps dad, you can hold on to this."

The old man recoiled at the sight of the letter before reaching out and taking it into his hands. "I don't know if I can." spoke the old man, weakly.

"I think," spoke his son, "for you to accept what happened, you need to confront it head on."

The old man stared down for a few seconds and then gave a shallow nod. Opening the envelope, he was hit with the familiar scent of paper. In an instant, he was back in his office, alongside his daughter; acting out the fantastic journeys in fictional worlds

Faced with a wave of emotion, his vision shifted; the road in front of the car became a horse-trodden path and a dragon circled above. He couldn't do it. The pain was far too much.

Seeing the strange look on the old man's face, his son pulled the car off the road and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't push it away any longer," he said, tears welling up in his eyes.

The old man snapped back to his son's car and pulled out the piece of paper.

Dear Dad,

Do you remember how, when I was a girl, we’d lock ourselves away in your office (much to the frustration of Mom and Ethan) and imagine ourselves as everything we weren’t? 

One day I’d be a wandering princess and you a brave knight come to escort me home, other days I’d be a jellyfish separated from her family, and you a walking starfish who would guide me back. 

I think it’s funny that in all our fantasies you were there to guide me. 

I know you think this is your fault, but I can’t stress how wrong you are. You have always been my knight, my starfish, and most importantly, my father. 

I love you dad. 

Forever your daughter,

Mary

The paper fell from the old man's hands, landing on the black car floor. His eyes grew blurry and tears ran down his face.

He lost all control, he sobbed and sobbed to the point where his son pulled over and embraced him. "It was never your fault dad," assured Ethan, a lump forming in his throat, "I understand that, and I know Mary did too."

The old man continued to cry, but muttered shallowly "I miss her so much."

Ethan closed his eyes for a moment before pulling his father closer, pausing to speak so as to not burst into tears himself.

"I do too," Ethan said quietly, "but you can't keep living like this. Talk to me and mom, we need to help each other move forward."

The old man nodded, and with tears in his eyes looked at his son

"What if I can't?"

The old man picked the letter up and remarked, "The pain of losing her, it isn't something I can recover from."

Ethan, seeing his father start to calm down, moved the car back onto the road before saying "To start walking down the road to healing you need to first start moving."

The old man looked at his son and caressed the letter in his hands.

"Do you think you could help me? To start moving?"

Ethan, without hesitation remarked, "of course, dad. I'm your son."

The old man, for once in what seemed like an eternity, gave a shallow smile before turning to the car window.

"I can't say that this pain will go away...," his words choked, "but, I'd like to face it. With you and your mother."

Ethan nodded, continuing along the empty road, and, after a few minutes, they arrived at a new home; outside stood an old woman who smiled at the sight of her husband and son.

The old man looked down at the letter and then looked up at the woman. He gave a weak smile, stepped out of the car, and walked towards the front door; the letter resting gently in his hand.