The Broken Window (Part 1)

Short Story  |  Merlin

The freezing wind carried small precious snowflakes that violently smashed into the window. All their beauty was then only memories. The storm kept raging on outside followed by the tearing eyes of a desperate man.

He observed the millions of microscopic crystals shatter on the glass panel. The storm was so powerful the night outside was barely visible. He began to feel one with the storm, one with all of the things crashing upon him.

He was the happiest he could ever be. His wife was the prettiest woman he had ever known and his child was at the least twice her beauty. He was retired in these snowy mountains, writing an occasional story once or twice a month to keep his old fingers alive.

Still, the father was crying. He was scared of his death approaching, scared to leave his family in mourn, scared to leave his family to bury him. He could only imagine the sorrow they would feel. The poor man was searching for the mark he wanted so much to leave on this earth in his youth. He was searching for a book with his name on it, without finding any. He was sadly realizing how unimportant his whole existence was in the grand scheme of the universe.

His own father flew through his mind. A strong being, stronger than he ever could have been. He could barely claim being a man when compared to his father. His arms were as big as those of a lumberjack, his hair rougher than a porcupine and his mind more logical than a calculator. Even his name would spread manliness into the ears of the ones he was facing.

The last words that he gave him echoed in his mind, "On the top of this snowy mountain, you will find the secret fuel to all of my life’s work, my son." His son was now retired on the top of a mountain, still looking for the secret his own father withheld from him.

The storm started to get angrier. The quick and arrogant wind blew through the window, launching millions of snowflakes in the old wood cabin. Through this new opening, the man looked at the mountains. He heard the highest peak calling him in the darkness. 

Mysterious waves were traversing him, irrigating his soul with a new wisdom.

His coat flew by himself on his shoulders. He did not bother to grab any scarf or mittens; his health was only paltry compared to the imminent sign life gave him.

The door behind him was left open, the man was lost in his thoughts. He was the same kid again looking up to his father like he was the hero to save us all from the hell that is life.

The man was running with the strength of a bear and the pride of a deer. Snow was scared to even stand in his way. His eyes were shooting lighting bolts at any snowflake approaching his face. The hatred of the storm was not enough to stop him, so it intensified and intensified, so much he was standing in a mist of snow.

The doubt haunted his mind but still he ran. His peripheral vision was only one uniform white colour. A mere shadow of a peak was guiding him through this white darkness.

The snow finally understood he was not giving up. The anger of the storm gradually deceased, enough for the peak to clearly appear in front of the man. He was eighteen years old again, jumping from rock to rock, climbing the icy surfaces. The old bones beneath his skin were on the brink of breaking, but he did not care. The son was running to his father’s dying wish.

He recalled all the times his father despised him for being an artist, all the time he pushed him down for his strength. The only memory of his father he could keep was his starefading into emptiness on his death bed.

He would haven given anything to see him again, only for a few minutes, only for a few seconds.

He would have given anything to tell him he was sorry. To hear his answer.

The cold sturdiness of the rocks at the peak melted in his hands. His exhausted body fell on the ground, resting his mind for the discovery approaching. He was scared to observe around, frightened to even look up. He figured he would turn back and go back home, like he always did. He started to count all the times he gave up in his life and diminished each and every one for them.

He stood up, straighter than a flag pole. The silence of the storm was announced even if it was astonished by the secret of his father. His pupils grew to the size of golf balls as he stared at the peek.

Nothing.

* * *

Part 2 is coming up later this week!