Percy Paschal

Hi, I’m Percy. I’m the staff writer for the proprietor review.

The Day

There she was the incarnate of desire, femininity motherhood, proprietorship: a saint. With a puff and a mix of white smoke, gray smoke and color all in a instant smaller than a blink she approached.

I received her visage as she came to me on what I determined in that second to be my deathbed. As she extended her hand it floated to the mid of my belly as if to say that I’m here to fill you as a mid wifes expectancy, as you are pregnant with thought of where and how you are going.

As a dryness rasped the back of my throat, I struggle to generate words and come up short with just what was short gasping questions. : ” I know you” put an end to my questions for a moment as I returned to the person that had been such an irritant to so many over so many years as Self-Centered power and control seem to return briefly.

In the quiet moments of solitude, the once vibrant connection to a listening ear began to fade, like the last rays of sunlight slipping away at dusk; words that once flowed freely now felt heavy, burdened by the weight of unreciprocated emotion, as heartfelt confessions transformed into mere echoes, bouncing off the walls of indifference, leaving a hollow sense of longing that gnawed at the spirit, a reminder of the unfulfilled need for understanding and empathy that had once made the heart feel lighter.

This began to seem like a business transaction, and as it progressed the stakes began to sharpen into a transactional pit.

How was your life? The statement shook me to my ankles, which then seemed inflamed to be about their business as well. Fighting this urge, I looked straight into its dark black eyes. I know you. We called each other friends.

And then, “what’s the deal?” The question was redundant; obviously, on my bed and without mobility, I was in a poor bargaining place.
I could feel the weight of my existence pressing down, as if the hands of fate were poised to tip the scales of eternity against me. With every heartbeat, I considered the value of my soul, a currency in a game I never wanted to play. “What if I promise to change? What if my legacy is worthy?” I thought desperately, my words a barely audible whisper to the shadows, hoping they would resonate in the cosmic balance, tipping it in my favor, granting me a future beyond this fragile moment.

Again her visage flashed; in my mind, yesterday I knew you. And I know this moment—I’ve seen it a number of times, like echoes from a dream decades old, where the lines of reality blur into a familiar rhythm.

It was you, I declared with solemn regard for the lost time; I was supposed to spend my life with you, yet fate conspired against us, leaving me to ponder the deep ache of what could have been, an opportunity squandered while we were both so close yet so far apart.

You were close but always just out of reach. Are you a ghost of Christmas future, and does it really have to be like this? Will I ever have the opportunity to go back and redeem my failures for joy alongside you? Or is it all gone forever? Are there conditions to this redemption, and if so, can I fulfill them?