I became more desperate as Micah’s condition worsened. She mustn’t die, that’s the mantra I repeated in my mind.
I paced the floor half-mad, unwilling to entertain the possibility that my wonderful friend, an almost seven-year-old mixed breed, can expire any minute. But each passing day that she refuses to eat, hope slips through my fingers like a fine sand.
The problem is you can’t let go. She’s not even yours.
Damn if she’s not! I protested. I love her and I’m not letting her go!
Then a vista came to me. I was sitting in a hut, students passing by, sun outpouring his blinding rays over the clear blue sky. What’s in your world that you can’t let anyone in? My teacher asks.
What’s in my world? I echoed. The question rang in my head.
Dead People. Dead Animals. Dead Aspirations. Things that I refuse to let go.
Like my dead father. He died waiting for me, but I never came around. Like this godfather who took care of me and my mother when family life becomes too complex. Like this man who cared for me during my childhood, I still regret walking away the last time I saw him alive.
We have unfinished businesses, they can’t leave yet.
It’s a fucking catacomb, reeking of fetid rotting flesh. I can continue the tour, if you like, Welcome to my World.
I can’t let anyone in because it’s dark in there, and smells worse than bog. It has been filled with dead things that there’s no space left for the living.
How about you, what’s in your world?