My father named me and he didn’t care it was a name for boy, he wanted that name for me. I never knew why during my childhood but then I realised it was a clue because he knew he was going to have an immortal child.
I’ve been in this world for a very long time. There’s many things I can’t remember; I can only remember how I lost my relatives, where we lived and all the bunch we were. A few details, merely.
My siblings and I were born and raised in Greece, just like our parents before us. We used to be five boys and four girls. I was the eldest of the females.
Just me and the eldest of my brothers survived to drowning, poisoned fruits, animal attacks and epidemics.
Not so long after the last of my sisters and my mother left us, a brother followed her later and then my father died due to natural causes and I stopped aging since then. I was 24 years old.
I stayed alone so I moved to Switzerland and made of the places where there’s snow my home since playing with snow is, to be honest the only and happy worth saving memory I have and treasure from my human days because in those two winters my family was complete.
Over the years I have been able to gather some of the stuff I owned when I was normal: a roll of paper I don’t have the strength to read, clothes my father and siblings once wore, a book and their bodies, preserved by some kind of ritual I forgot how to do.
In order to seek adaptation in this modern days I change my name and surname every few years, sometimes even appearance to blend in and never draw attention. Stand out can be very dangerous.
The situation I’m involved in will always be lived one day at a time with secrecy.
Suddenly frustrated because of things my mind seems to have blocked, I decide to get out of this room.
“I need a drink” I say to myself and close the trunk to then stand up and walk out of the basement.
I headed up to the living room and took the first bottle and glass I saw.
After taking a sip, I walk back downstairs with the half full glass of whiskey.
Then I open the trunk again and take the roll of paper gaining nerve I don’t even know where from.
Right there, something like a memory came through. It was my dad in bed with my hand in his and he used his last breath to tell me: When you find your reason, you’ll feel it, and when you do, it will be time for you to read this.
Then he handed me a scrap of some sort of papyrus and light left his deep blue eyes and his hand fell before I could take the paper.
Somewhat scared because of that blast from the past, I let the paper fall back into the trunk and close it to run out of my house.
All I can think after what I just saw is:
What was that?
I don’t even know how to react; what’s the meaning of what he said?
I stop in the closet next to the front door to take my bag and a jacket, then I take my keychain.
I might be over reacting, maybe I should be happy for remembering something about those ancient days but I can’t be here.
If I’m alone I’ll start making questions like: why now? Why today? Why my dad’s death? I’ll end up overthinking and then I’ll want to commit suicide even though I can’t get killed because that’s unanswerable. I know myself, I have been dealing with me myself and I for 607 years so I rather to be surrounded by people to regain my composure and try to bring my self-control back.
There’s a little bar near Promenade, they are quite friendly and they know my favourite cocktail’s recipe so that will be my destination.
Merci pour la lecture!
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