My father was lying on the ground, in a coma, in his pajamas. The breath was weak, and I could hardly feel he was alive were it not for his mild body temperature. I didn’t know if he could still feel any, but I knew it wouldn’t be for long anyway.
Looking at him calmly, and I decided it was time to let him go.
I took out my hair stick, and stabbed it into his chest, trying to terminate his heartbeat once and for all.
My strength was not enough, so the stick slipped a little bit, and went through his liver instead. My father didn’t even shake or frown a bit by the penetration, and I didn’t see any blood coming out of the wound I’ve just made.
Wanting to end this suffering for both him and me, I did it again…and failed again.
I was hoping he was not able to survive the two consecutive stabbings; however, when I put my palm gently against his chest, I could still feel his heartbeat, though weak, and his temperature.
I sit beside him, pondering what the next move should be.
I loved him; his was my dad, but leaving him lying there unconsciously, it was a torment for both him and his family.
It might sound inhuman, but it was the idea all along, and my conviction had never wavered. The only thing I worried and wondered was if he could still feel the pain, and what if….what if he woke up before I succeeded to end his life, and then he had to watch himself die from hemorrhage or his own feebleness.
As if in responding to my question, he opened his eyes slowly. The pupils were blurred but without losing their vision; I was caught by his sight and then he called my name vulnerably.
I leaned toward him immediately, surprising at his sudden awakening and fearing he would find out what his little girl had just done to him!
His face was pale, voice was weak, and I couldn’t tell if it was owing to his bleeding or his already poor condition.
I whispered to him how I loved him, and didn’t want him to move in case his life was consumed sooner. However, all he wanted to do was to get up, and asked me to assist him. I had no choice but held him and helped him to stand on his feet; put his arm around my shoulder to support him and felt his left back where the wounds were with my hand to detect if any blood spurting.
He seemed okay for the fist few seconds; he managed to stand up with my support, and started to walk few steps with my assistance. Then, however, I started to feel the wet covering his left back gradually, and he found something wasn’t right as well.
He looked at me with his face pale in confusion, and I realized what I had done….I was going to be the one taking his life…not his unconsciousness, not his weakness…but me, his beloved daughter!
Tears started gathering to my eyes, and my voice was dried when I struggled myself to explain what was happening to him. I was completely blank and couldn’t find the right words to say. I heard myself saying to my father “I love you…I’m sorry…but I did something wrong…", and then I wasn’t able to continue.
My father still looked at me faintly in confusion, and I could tell he was getting weaker and weaker. Holding his fragile body, I knew I’ve got to tell him before he fell again.
My tears were about to fall, and I was about to reveal the crucial truth to my father, when I was wakened by the touch of a breeze.
I didn’t know if I should thank the breeze or not…on one hand I was glad that my tear didn’t really fall eventually, on the other hand I lost the chance to see my father’s reaction when he learnt the truth.
This dream was more than meets the eye, and the synchronicity had made me more convinced of the connection between this dream and the symbolical meaning I supposed.
I felt warm and covered after I woke up, and though I could still feel the strong emotion in my dream, I fell asleep again under the soothing atmosphere around me.
Hoping this time I wouldn’t try to send my father to death again…