Last Breath of A Dying Man: pt 5 of 7
By Michael Wicks
From the Diary of Samantha Klein-Smith (age 19)
Date: June 6th, 1954
I haven’t written in this thing for years, and now, as if by some fate, I find you affixed to my desk exactly ten years after the death of my father. I don’t know if Liam did this to give me some sort of cathartic moment, but I don’t like it. I read back a few entries, and it bewilders me that I don’t remember anything about the lurid dreams I once had as a child. It’s impossible. How could I forget? As I peered at the detailed etchings of the eyes that used to whisper sweet nothings to me as a child, it all came back. The man especially; he was a priest. A missionary to be exact, one I had seen in town when I was much younger. I had drawn him covered in eyes, monstrous orbs that shone red and black as bright as an amalgam of stars. He would bring me candy every Sunday, he was friends with my mother, or so it seemed. He introduced me to my husband, Liam, when he was a young man. How could I forget this man? Repression is never touted as something the strong willed experience, so how is it that I obliterated everything that happened from my memory. Dad I miss you so much. I wish you could meet your future grandson; I say son even though I’m not sure, but sometimes a mother just knows. I wish you could embrace me like you used to; you have no idea how comforting you were to me, but you insisted on fighting what I’m sure you knew to be a senseless war. I remember now, his name was Othello something or other. A man with a kind façade, but something was off about him. I can’t believe I forgot about the dreams; I fear for their return as the stress will undoubtedly harm the baby. The man with the flute was Othello; it’s perplexing as I’ve never seen him play anything other than the church organ. Even then, his meter always seemed off. Well Liam, I left you this on your bed since you think playing with my diary is fun and games, I hope you read this. I LOVE YOU, and you’re the only one for me. I’ll see you tonight.
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