This is the story I wrote back in 1999 that got me a highly commended award. I always knew that I want to be a writer and winning the award actually help me believe that I can be a writer.
Hope you enjoy it.
Your Time Is Up
Making my way through a dimly lit hallway, I recognised the carpets and furniture were from the time of Renaissance. The paintings on the walls were of the masterpieces of centuries of great artists. Amongst them were Leonardo Da Vinci, Vincent Van Gogh and Michaelangelo. I could not tell if they were the original art or just mere copies. As I strolled down, admiring the individual pictures, the windows burst opened sending a gush of wind into my face, blowing millions of dust particles straight into my eyes and nostrils. I sneezed. My eyes became watery. I fought my way against it and struggled hard to shut the shutters. Slamming the menacing wind out of the mansion, I continued my way to the library.
I did not know why my mother sent me here. The place sent shivers down my spine. I have never enjoyed staying at my Uncle Carl’s Vatican mansion. It was not that I dislike the kind big old man who always has us for the summer holidays. It was just my cousins. My cousins were not of my age group. Either they were in college or they were mere elementary school children. In fact, I did not even share the same bloodline as them. I have always felt so out of place. I knew that being adopted by such a rich family was not a bad thing. Uncle Carl and my mother knew it was hard for me to fit in. They encouraged me and gave me everything. Yet, I could not find my purpose in life. Plus the question why my birth mother abandoned me still lingered in my mind.
During my vacations at Uncle Carl’s, I often wandered around the neighbourhood, much to Fridley, the butler’s annoyance. I loved being alone on my little expeditions. Sometimes I travelled a bit too far from the house. Poor old Fridley had to come searching for me. The last time I got lost in the woods, chasing a hare to its burrow. I was just ten years old back then. I smiled as I continued down the hallway.
“Something amusing, my lady?� a curious voice called behind me.
It made me jump and then I pause for a moment. I spun around to see who it was. There he was a six foot five inches man, dressed in his best black suit. I looked up to him – the giant that was towering over me. “Fridley, old chap! You gave me a fright. Never do that again,â€? I exclaimed.
“I’m sorry, my lady. Nevertheless, I see that you have picked up the British accent. Hmmm..,� he replied smiling.
“Just a week is enough to get me going. And please don’t call me my lady. It makes me feel so old. I’ll be turning only sixteen in three weeks time.�
“As you wish, my lady,� Fridley shot back, sarcastically.
I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue playfully at him. “Is that for Uncle Carl?� I pointed at the silver tray he was holding.
“Yes, it’s time for Master Fredmon’s medication,� he answered. Then the doorbell rang. “Oh dear, do you mind carrying this to the library? Master Fredmon is there. I’ve got to get the door.�
He left me standing there with a whole silver tea set. I gave a loud sigh. But no one could hear it unless the walls have ears. Balancing the whole tray, I slowly climbed the creaky staircase, which led to the library.
Outside the library, I could hear Uncle Carl coughing. I knocked gently on the door before entering. There was Uncle Carl seated in his big comfortable armchair, lost in his own world of fantasies. This was the only man that I knew who adores books. He has a collection of books that even my school library could not compare. He taught me many things about life. Especially, when I had problems, he always knows the answer.
He looked up from his book and gave me a warm smile. “What is it my child?�
“Well, it’s time for your medication,� I said, raising the tray a little.
After taking his medicine, I curled up beside him next to the fire. It was quite chilly for a summer night. It had rained the whole day.
“What have you been up to, my dear?� Uncle Carl asked. His voice was hoarse and weak.
“I went to the market this morning and I met this old beggar….�
“In the rain?� Uncle Carl cut my sentence. “Oh, dear. You are always out and about helping people. But please look after your own health.�
I nodded in reply and continued my story.
The scene of the haggard old beggar thrusting his gnarled wrinkled hand at me, asking for a coin replayed in my mind. He was dirty and smelt horrible. Yet, behind the dirt and grime, a white bush for a beard, his eyes caught my attention. Those eyes were baby blue. So gentle. If I left him there, my guilt would soon devour me like a hungry beast. I just had to oblige. I gave him a pound and then I took off.
Despite wearing a heavy raincoat and carrying an umbrella, I could not keep myself from getting wet. That is when my conscience bugged me. I had to go back and get the poor old man. I turned around and headed back to the almost deserted market place. The wind was howling. I was lost in the curtains of rain. I could hardly see a thing. Yet, I was determined to find the old beggar. I went from corner to corner searching for the old man. Just as I was about to give up, I heard a sneeze. It was funny though. With the rain pouring so heavily, it was even impossible to hear a yell but I heard a sneeze. To my relief, I saw the old beggar curled up beside a trashcan. I approached him.
“Come on, sir. Let’s go to a place where it’s nice and dry,� I said as I gave him my hand to hold onto.
We went to a small café. It was not very fancy but it was warm and cosy. I ordered a bowl of soup and some pasta for him. As for myself, I took a cup of hot tea and some toast. Although he was hungry, he ate in a very proper manner, unlike most people I have known. He did not say a word until he had finished his meal.
“Thank you, my dear. It has been months since someone has treated me like a human being,� he said in a grateful voice.
I came to know that the beggar sitting in front of me used to come from a wealthy family. Mr. Johnson as he claimed to be, had his own business empire, a loving wife and three sons. His wife left him for a better world five years ago and that is when he became ill himself. He left his fortune to his three sons fearing he might not live long enough to run it. In return, he was abandoned and disowned by his own flesh and blood. He was sent to an old folks’ home where he was mistreated. When the torture became unbearable, Mr. Johnson made up his mind and left the home. He began living on the streets and started eating out of trashcans. The thought of it made my stomach go queasy. He resolved to begging in order to survive. Despite all his hardship, Mr. Johnson expressed that for once he was happy.
Upon hearing his statement, I was surprised. A business tycoon, now a mere beggar was happy.
Out of pure curiosity, I asked, “But why sir? I do not understand.�
Mr. Johnson took my hand and patted it. He said life had been better now that he was on the streets. He did not have to worry about his business or his appearance. He would not have to be a hypocrite just for a business deal. For once, he could be free. It is true that now he is free. He told me in life, nothing could remain the same tomorrow. God has his own way of working and sometimes miracles may come in the form of pain and loss. Nobody knows when Armageddon might hit. Life is to be fulfilled with good deeds and if our time has come, we know we had left a legacy or a memory in this world. Materials may vanish but memories can be cherished. After that, he left me sitting down in the café all alone as I watch his fragile silhouette walk in the drizzle.
By then, Uncle Carl had fell asleep. I covered him with his blanket and gave him a slight peck on his forehead. I took a big breath and looked around the library. Some of the books were left untouched for many years. The paper was yellow and brittle. Thick layers of dust lay undisturbed on the covers. Uncle Carl did adore books but at his age, he had a hard time taking care of them. I walked to the nearest shelf and pulled out a big red book. I slowly opened its cover. On the first page it stated, “I am only one, but still I am one; I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything I will not refuse to do something that I can do – Edward E. Hale.�
That phrase was Uncle Carl’s favourite. I smiled and then my mind began to ponder. A million questions crowded my thoughts. I started to reconsider Mr. Johnson’s words. As I eyed every book around me, I began to think. What if these books were people? All the knowledge and wisdom left to rot in a neglected library. The books symbolised men like Mr. Johnson, now ignored by the public, treated like trash. What if Armageddon really did strike tomorrow? Will mankind be prepared to face their time?
Life is like that. You can never expect to have maximum results if you do not work for it. I was ashamed for it took me so long to realise my mistake. Even worse, I had to learn it from an old beggar. But it took mankind even longer. I might as well consider myself lucky.
I fell asleep on the rug by the fire. When I woke up, I saw Uncle Carl still resting on his armchair. I approached the gentle giant and shook him. Unfortunately, there was no response. I checked for his pulse but there was none. His body was cold. I screamed for Fridley.
Uncle Carl had passed away the night before. He seem so peaceful when the laid him down in his coffin. From the look of his face, I believed without a doubt that Uncle Carl had lived his life to the fullest. He had been kind and altruistic. It hurt me deeply to lose my uncle. At least I know that he had left this world knowing that I appreciated him and his wisdom. Plus the fact he had appreciated his own life and never took things for granted.
Many people do not realise how precious life can be. Others do not appreciate the things they have. You and I may be one of those who had never spent enough time appreciating and loving the thing there are around us. You may not realise it until your time is up. I just happened to be lucky.