Phobia

 He was plagued by innocence in his daily life. Fun, friends and school, that is all he knew. Life was just a carousel of pleasures, the island offered more to him that he could enjoy. Mortality was just a faraway speck of dust in his mind, for again, he was as naive as children were. Life went on, he constructed a facade for himself, an unconscious shield to the harshness of this world which we call home.

He had a guide in life, one that did not ever let go of his frail hands. The almighty shone light on his path, and he pursued this light with fervour, always feeling like he owe these invisible powers something for the positive turns of his life.

Yet the embers of his life quickly died out, realisation hit him, life showed its real nasty colors. 

His guide and model figure ascended the heavens, he was left alone trodding in the darkness. Everything was sudden, his dreams plummeted faster than everything else. 

He woke up to a happy morning, and came home to find the death of the one he considered equal to the almighty. His path was just a descent from there on, one that even Dr. Faustus would have refused. Let the bygone be gone, and pick up from there to build something new...they all said that at the climax of the tragedy, but who really managed to see this through? Certainly not Macbeth.

This left a scar, deep inside where no help could reach. The boy now man, has only one phobia, to see his phone ring with a call coming from home. He always pick up the phone with his heart racing and his sweat cold, mentally preparing himself, albeit in vain, to receive the bad news. It never came. Although never is a heavy word in this context, life goes on, and never becomes the future.