Giraffes

Moving On

My father was lying on the ground.

Blood seeped out of him.

He looked up at me sadly.

"I will always remember you son."

I cried like I had never cried before.

The skies opened up and rain poured down, adding to the water on my face.

It was the saddest day of my life.

Me crying, while the hobo beat me with the stick.

I didn't feel external pain anymore. All I felt was sadness. I couldn't stand it.

The pain was numb. My life was over. My father was dead.

The hobo finally walked away.

I sat in the rain and cried until I had no more tears to let out.

I realized that it was time to move on now.

I got up and dusted myself off. I was soaking wet, so I found some clothes in a dumpster and put them on.

I walked home slowly.

I climbed back into my house and fell into bed. I cried once more. Everything was blurry.

"Hello son," I heard.

I looked up and around me.

There was no one there.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I am your father."

"My father died." I said sadly.

"I am your father and I shall always be with you. In your heart and in your soul we are one." He says. "Never forget that son. I love you."

"I love you too."

Then the voice vanished out of my head.

I took a deep breath and realized that the world wasn't over. I could move on and resume my life.

Every so often I'll hear his voice inside of my head. His encouraging words telling me that it's going to be ok.