The Hidden Truth

Escaping from myself

He picked up the letter with trembling hands to realize the worst fear of all. This was not the same letter. The letter was not a page long, not handwritten, nor signed. It was a short one, typed, and without a date or signature, but he knew who was the author. He barely had time to process the words before a loud knock could be heard from the front door. This was the knock of death.

He started at the door, trembling even worse, unable to move. The silence of the house grew louder, demanding a reaction from him. It seemed fate screamed at him to answer the door. Another three, short knocks could be heard. Death was impatient. He swallowed and inched his way to the window of the door. He barely got a glance outside of the door before having the precious seconds to duck a bullet speeding past him. He crunched down; his heart was pounding in his ears and his legs nearly reduced to wiggling jelly. He didn’t dare to breathe. For a few seconds there was rush of screaming silence. He strained his poor hearing for the footsteps of his killer. There was nothing.

Suddenly, the air whipped and cracked a deafening scream. It took him a full three seconds to become aware it was him who made that scream. His eyes searched around for his killer before being forced to look his wet, warm side. He stared, shocked, at the blood rushing from his ribs. There was a definite sign of a bullet hole between his ribs. He couldn’t feel it, but he knew without a doubt that he was dying.

He didn’t move, for fear of activating his pain and attracting the attention of the killer. It didn’t matter. His scream had told the murder where the victim was. His breath was growing rapidly shallow. He didn’t have much time. He heard the quiet steps of a person. He saw sneakers. He recognized those sneakers and nearly screamed again. He looked up and saw the face of death, of fear, of life and death. He saw what was within himself. He saw his daughter with a gun pointed at his face. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t find his voice. For a second he was full of rage, full of anger, and full of fear. This was just a second as the bullet left the barrel of the gun and ripped through his head, splattering his brain and blood all over the walls of his home.

I hit the save button on my computer and pushed the chair away from the desk. I shot a glare down at my hands, feeling them betray my emotions while shaking in fear and anger. To gain control of them, I raised them to my face and rubbed my bloodshot eyes. I was tired, oh so tired. My head pounded with a dull, aching headache. I sat limp in the desk chair, unable to find the will power or energy to rise and head over to the dinning hall for food. As if to scold my lack of discipline, my stomach painfully growled, and heightened the sense of close to fainting.

I looked at the strange, alien devise for telling time. There were many advances in technology that I had gotten use to, even approved, but the simple wrist watch was one I would never give up. It was nearly time the sun to start rising according to the time piece. The shadows of the night were shortening and fading with the come sun. The temple was at its most quiet, most calming hour, yet feeling escaped me. In a few more hours Jedi would awake, greet each other, and then continue to live on. I would not.

I did not look into the darkness, for I had become the absence of light. I had given up the battle. I had been broken by the last test my former master, Mirmo set for me. Again, I looked at the window, making out the dark outline of the hot jungle against the breaking clouds, streaked with a pale orange. The sky had changed from a midnight black to a deep navy blue. It was time to go. The chair creaked in the hush of the small stone room, sliding against the hard stone floor. What little clothing the Jedi gave me was tossed into a small bag meant for day treks. Water was collected from the small sink mounted in a corner and stored into a large container. Dried, tasteless, but nourishing food bars were forced past teeth and tongue. The lightsaber that had been loaded to me, was placed on the neatly made bed. A look around showed a room that clean, but empty. I was ready.

Quiet were my footsteps as I carefully crept through the sleepy halls. My mind was silent to avoid the masters picking up on my departure. Each door was studied. All corners were checked for cameras. My presence would not be traced easily or quickly. Finally, the last door, the door to freedom was pushed opened.