The Ghost's Diary 👻 ✓

55(Part V). Matter of Perspective

Wait, we've till the very last of memories? Welp, that was a long ride. Let us start this chapter with a quote from our own Henry Fitzwilliam Knightley:

Your perception is your choice. That's all the advice I can give. ;)

I have always known another's life isn't only golden and red.

After the show, the actor either gets roses thrown at him or tomatoes. Nevertheless, both of the actor types' mechanical smiles fall as soon as they exit the stage as the dampness of their own demons settles in.

I wish I was wrong.

Unlike the greyish yellow day of East of Eden, this garden is littered by darkening clouds and dank bluebells.

It doesn't take me long to realise that I am within Edenfield's gardens.

My hand caresses itself against the damp window in front of me. Tiny water droplets still remain on it.
This is the window to Mum and Dad's room.

The light thunder drifts me away into the room with closed eyes-- just as the iron-wrought gates close with a thud.

Shifting my gaze throughout the room, I find it to be almost the same. A bookshelf with picture frames and books is on my left with a dressing table and wardrobe.
The bed is in the far centre-- pressed against the wall, with two side tables at its sides.

On my right, I expect there be the same old sofas and one grand chair, but I'm wrong.

"Dad..."
My feet crawl towards him. He has that single cushioned armchair pushed forward, and his feet propped on the bed's end.

He doesn't notice me-- with his elbows on the armrest and his drooped head focused on something in his hand. He looks younger, though. Almost in his late twenties.

This is why you were away, weren't you, Kathy?

...Yeah.

I don't jolt him by his shoulder or anything like that-- I let him stay like he is.

One side of his gravity-stricken dark brown hair is screwed upward, while the other isn't. Dad's socks are missing, too. He never took off his socks-- except before bed, of course.