Time had passed and a raging sun had subdued the king's scorched skinned feet. Rising once more to witness a never ending trial. He could not deny the blissful sights that loomed below the stretches of his throne. "How far did he have to climb?" "I do not know. All that I do know is how futile it is to even care about time in such a trial." "Why did he not just give up? Why not just beg to the gods for death?" "He had content wrapped around his sleeves. He was able, and he was willing.
You must know by now those who suffer in silence, without a reaching hand to tender their hearts, live in the act of defiance. They believe death to be a market for souls who exhale dust, not whom breathe fire." "I do not understand?" "Your choice to slump here, even with your mind put on trial, your heart left to moan, your legs begging for rest... do you not believe! You are still here."
For a moment, Dario had been pressed to ponder the elusive sentiment thrown upon his mind. He had felt a drowsy noise in the corners of his ears. As he reached to face the elusive man's eyes, he had came to his conclusion. "I am still here. I suffer and yet, here I am. I beg for help and yet, here I am. I am here because I chose to be."
The therapist looked across to balance his sight towards his audience. He raised his cheeks in admiration; a small but alluring smile had graced Dario's testament. "Now you understand the eagerness we must all face. The strength, the courage, the accepting nature of what life may be. You are still here! You now know that with suffering, comes to us a sheet of parchment, one of which is either tainted or gifted by suffering's ink. Happiness is what must come from you!" As Dario lifted his spine to march out of his therapist's domain, he had silently exhaled one last thought: "I am alive."
YOU ARE READING
To Go On
Short StoryDario is a deprived soul, tainted by the prospect of his own mortality. On what should pass on as a normal visit to his therapist, transpires an unusual tale of tragedy and hope.
