I wrote another story and I think that its good so I want to share it. Hope you like it!
The luscious greenish blue river flows in the middle of two strands of beautiful, bricked houses. A few trees stood within equal distances of each other leaning in towards the river. The river flows fast, leaving the noise of water rushing downstream in the air. Voices can be heard from inside the houses as the bright lights from the houses stream outside through the windows. Light can also be seen from the black painted street lamps stand there, attracting many moths to it. The cobblestone pathway runs alongside the river for over a kilometer with a black detailed railing stands keeping the barrier between water and land. Just where the pathway ends, an arched bridge stretches over the river and connects the two sides of the road. The river sparkles as the rays of light hit the water and break into thousand pieces, like gems spread across a pebbled floor. They sky was as clear as a crystal and the moon isn't visible for miles. You can see the dark shadows of mountains in a distance. The town was buzzing.
It was a strange night.There seemed to be a chill in the air. I walked down the pathway, shoved the key into the keyhole of my house and walked in. I took off my coat and hung it on the rack. I walked in and stepped on an envelope. I moaned in pain as knelt down putting pressure on my left knee, and picked it up. I ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. I read the letter slowly and carefully.
How are you? I know it’s a shock to hear from me but I have to tell you something. It’s about dad. He’s dead. I know what you're thinking, What? How? That’s why I wrote to you, I felt that it was my job as your sister to tell you, even though you stopped talking to dad years ago. It was about 2 months ago when he was diagnosed with cancer. I mailed you about it but I know you didn't read it because I got it back in the mail a few days ago unopened. He had a tumor in his brain which has grown quickly over the months. The doctors said he had a week to live. After a week, he was still alive so we thought that he was going to be fine. The next few weeks were fine. He was laughing, he was fine. This week was incredibly hard for him. He was sick the whole week, tired from the medication prescribed to him and overall not feeling good. Me and Mom have been here the whole time. We wished you were there too. It was Tuesday morning when the heart monitor sounded the long beep which indicated his death. Mom is a mess. She didn't have the courage to reach out to you so I decided to mail you and see what happened. I know that you are still mad at him about the incident with your job but he is your father. Give him a chance. He loved you, he mentioned you a few minutes before he took his final breath.
We’re holding his funeral on Sunday. Please come. Give your father a chance. Give us a chance. We love you. always will. Even if you don’t show up on Sunday, we won’t be mad, we’re going to be disappointed though. Please come. We miss you.
I took a deep breath and collapsed on the couch. A tear streamed down my eyes as I thought about not having my father there for me anymore. My mind was flooded with different thoughts, in other words, I was confused. Should I forgive my father after what he did to me or should I stay and continue with my job?
My eyes were wide open. It was 3am and I was still awake. I couldn't sleep. I got out of bed and went to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of milk and sat on the counter. I could hear the clock ticking, the crickets chirping, and the rain pouring outside. The letter sat on the counter. I reached for it slowly and picked it up. I read it again and finally I gave up. I couldn't hold a grudge against my father for so long that it would keep me from going to his funeral. I ripped out a piece of paper from my notebook which lay in the corner behind the scented candle which burnt calmly until it blew out as I pulled the paper out of my notebook and over the candle creating a slight wind. I lit the candle again and wrote “I will be there” in large capitals on the paper and signed my name under it and threw it on the floor.
A sudden rage erupted out of me like an active volcano. I screamed, and kicked the chair. I ripped apart my notebook and dropped it on the pebbled floor. I tugged on my hair and screamed some more. I shoved the glass door open which led to the balcony and stood there clutching onto the railing. I stood there and calmed down, my hair and clothes drenched in the rain. I burst into tears. All this time, I was mad at him for something so small, when I could have talked to him, met him, loved him. I shrunk into a ball and sat on the balcony in the rain just crying. Finally, 30 minutes later, I got up and went to bed after I dried off and changed into warm clothes.
It was Sunday. Birds chirped and the sun shined. I drove for an hour until I finally reached Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I stopped at the hotel I was staying in and changed into my black dress and then drove another 30 minutes to the church and burial ground right at the edge of the city. I parked and walked inside the church which was crowded with people. I didn’t know my father was so popular. I climbed the stairs and then I saw my mother and sister standing there and greeting the guests. My mom and my eyes met. We stared at each other until I finally walked closer. We were an inch away from each other. Years worth of build up emotions gushed out of us both resulting into long hugs. I apologised for staying away from her all these years until she forgave me. I pulled away from the hug and walked to my sister. The same thing happened for the two of us. When it was time for the service to start, we sat down together in the front and listened as the pastor talked. It was just like any other funeral. People cried, the pastor gave an inspiring talk, people came up and shared thoughts about my dad, nothing special.
Until my mother made me go up and say something. I walked up nervously, my palms sweated in the anxiety. I reached the wooden podium. I rested my arms on it and cleared my throat. My eyes darted across the room observing the people sitting there who stared up at me hoping for good speech. I was not good at this. The last time I gave a public speech, it was on my high school graduation. I stuttered as I tried to start my speech.
“The last time I saw my father alive was when I was 21 years old. I am 25 now. We had gotten into a fight about my job. He didn't approve of me being the assistant of a fashion designer, he didn't think it was practical. I got mad at him and left home, resettling in New York. I never saw him, talked to him, or even wrote to him. I was wrong. I spent 4 years of my life hating my father because of something so little and now he’s dead. I lost touch with my sister and mother and hardly ever spoke to them except for the yearly birthday call. About a week ago, I got a letter from my sister which basically said that my father’s is no more and I have to come home. I lost it. I spent an hour thinking, an hour crying in the rain and an hour hating myself for the stupid things I did. Families are supposed to stick together, they are supposed to help each other, always pray for the other’s success. Now I realize that my father just wanted me to have a good career, be respected, work hard, in other words, he just wanted the best for me. I realize that now, and I realize that it’s a bit too late but I know that my father is watching down on me from heaven and smiling. I love you daddy.”