The Old House

"Pack your bags, we're going on vacation!" Mom's cheerful voice rang through the house. "We're going to the old house!" Did I hear that right? Vacation? What... a VACATION? You probably thought I was happy. No, I was angry, frustrated, fuming, even. Why? All our shitty vacations ended up in hell. We once climbed a mountain again just to get Dad's car keys. The old house was an hour by car. By my definition, that's not even a vacation. I just acknowledged it and packed my bag, storming toward our small, grease-stained red car. Luckily, I still had my phone in my pocket for the ride. It's called experience. Once, I didn't have my phone on me and was forced to listen to the Bible the whole car ride. I played some phone games like Bubble Shooter and Geometry Dash. It was boring because I was already master's level at these games. Every game you name? I've already completed it. I have like a gift for phone games.

We arrived at the dusty house, a little crooked, I must say. The door creaked like a haunted house in an amusement park. It was empty, and I bet there were definitely cockroaches hiding somewhere. There were two floors, connected by a spiral staircase that needed some cleaning. I found a room right next to the stairwell that was supposed to be "my" room for the vacation. (Dad told me multiple times that I had a privilege since I got to sleep in Grandpa's room.) I unpacked everything. My alarm clock (sometimes trustworthy), 6 pairs of socks, 3 magazines, strawberry shampoo, and 7 pairs of trousers and shirts. Mom told me that we wouldn't be heading to dinner for the next hour. Great, I lay down on my bed that was probably clean?? And picked my magazine up. Minutes later, I landed on a page about arctic foxes with a cute baby. I woke up to grab a pair of scissors that I swear I brought but didn't. I opened every drawer in case some scissors spirit felt like pitying me. I guess they did. There was a pair of scissors that looked older than the house, but it was good enough. Until my hands felt something smooth. I pulled it out just out of curiosity. "My Diary," it said. I opened a page:

December 4th

I pressed my face against the cold glass while I watched the snowflakes fall to the ground. Down, down, down they went, each one beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Thinking about everyone who went up to the heavens, the way they knew their time was up, up, up. How they said their tearful goodbyes and left the world, never making me the same again.

I didn’t come up with this myself; it came from generations, generations, generations of knowledge from my ancestors. My grandmother, now in the arms of Death, told me that it was never too late for kindness. My grandfather, David “The Monk” Johnson, was the philosopher of our family. He never got cross, telling me that the world was already full of anger and hate. Twelve years later, I had a job and the love of my life. We were engaged, so full of life and hope. Alas, my first tragedy came. She had been a victim of Death. The thought of loving her was also taken by Death. Hours, days, months passed without my permission. Then comes the second, third, the fourth tragedy.

It is terrifying, the thought of losing someone, yet every bit of love they’ve given you hasn’t truly evaporated with their soul. Why does Death haunt me, slowly, slowly, slowly, not killing me completely? I have wondered, wondered, wondered—why isn’t my time up? Why do those I dearly love meet Death himself, while I still hold onto the ground? Does Death come to you? Or do you go to Death?

Yet I still live. Death hasn’t come to me, and I haven’t gone to Death. Why, why, why—do you ask? The answer is something Death doesn’t understand. We, humans, contain something much, much, much more powerful than spirits: love, kindness, empathy. Something I have learned along the way is that we cannot defeat Death. It is powerful, powerful, powerful—far stronger than us humans. But we can show love and kindness while Death is asleep. Before Death stirs, we can show love, kindness, and empathy. In my ninety-four years, this is what I have learned: this is what makes us human.

In these years, I have seen hints of Death. My body and mind have become unfamiliar to me. Shadows where there shouldn’t be. Dark thoughts are invading my mind. Seeing the Light in my dreams. Death is not something to be taken lightly, nor evil. Death does not choose victims out of cruelty; instead, it simply arrives when a person’s time is finished. Quickly, quickly, quickly—before Death consumes me, I must tell you one thing. Power is temporary, love is forever. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, dear reader, for I have lost myself to Death.

The book weighed another thousand kilos in my hands after I read this. God, my ancestors were literal Socrates. After I read this, I did find a pair of scissors. How much stuff did grandpa leave??? At this pace, I'll find a donkey in here.

Mom called me downstairs to leave for dinner. Pineapple pizza. Pretty decent. By the time we were home, the sky was pretty dark. I wondered if there were more hidden objects in here. I hunted through every drawer in my room. Nothing. I looked under the rug. Nothing. I headed downstairs just in case. I looked under the couch. Bingo. There it was, a magnificent-looking ring with a purple stone embedded in it. There was also a small piece of paper. I grabbed both and then fled into my room like a criminal escaping a crime scene. I put them carefully on my bed, then opened up the little piece of paper that looked too small to be... well, anything. I opened it up anyways:

For my dearest love, Emma :)

This means... My grandfather bought a ring that would probably cost a million dollars nowadays and hid it under the couch so that Emma, my grandmother, would never find it, but so that two generations later, his granddaughter would find it, which is fine, I guess, because I could sell it to some rich guy.

It was bedtime, and I already had my shower, which was too cold because this house has no warm water, which was disappointing. I returned to my room, and I believed it was raining until I looked closer. Snow. I had nothing to do because, obviously, I wouldn't sleep. I pretended to be grandpa, thinking that it would make me wiser, stroking a beard that I didn't have.

I pressed my face against the cold glass while I watched the snowflakes fall to the ground.