Morning or Night, No Pink Skies This Time
Father, this isn’t what I always wanted to show you—it’s very nearly the opposite. But as stark and as lonely as the landscape is in death, at least it is peaceful. And at least you have some green to keep you company as you go from flesh back to earth.
One day you too will be a part of this green, this greater vista. And the clouds that are dark and ominous now will be as light and as lovely as the cottony ones you always liked staring at whenever they appeared on a summer day.
I haven’t forgotten what you taught me, that there are new things to be learned from old things, that the stars are as infinite as the grains of sand in and not yet in existence. That death might be the beginning of everything and that one day we might meet again.
I hope if that day comes, we will be equals even if we cannot be friends. For I also haven’t forgotten what you said the one time I asked if we were friends: “In your life you’ll have a hundred friends—but you have only one father, and that’s me, so, no, we are not friends.”
For now, let that bird keep you company. And if he isn’t being merely playful—if there’s something more dire to his clutching at your cerement—know that I will find him, that I will find who or what sent him and I will wipe out of the next world whatever force would dare defile you.
Such a right would belong only to me, and as of now I surrender all claim to all the animosity and all the resentment and all the unending ire your mistakes have created in me. This does not make us immortal nor correct nor certain. It does, however, make our story “storied”—and as you would say, one day I will begin it at the beginning and you’ll listen in, one ear pressed to the Earth herself, the other to your Heaven above.
Garth Ferrante is a complete unknown who writes and makes games out of challenging his own creativity. He writes because he loves to, because he finds meaning and purpose in it, because if he didn’t, life would be lifeless.
The Ekphrastic Review
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