Life was never easy for him. His middle name wasn’t trouble, but it did seem like he had been injected with trouble right after he was born.
He never got along with his parents and had to run away the day they both returned home plastered. His foster family bestowed a little sister upon him, and she never failed to make his teenage life a roller coaster of irritation and arguments.
When he was kidnapped by an extremist organization, it took all of his willpower, strength and hope (along with his left arm) to get out of captivity. He then joined the army, and proceeded to suffer hell during the World War.
Didn’t we all?
I concentrate on him, because he is my best friend, a person I have closely observed and have always admired. Now in his hospital bed, he is calmly talking to his wife and children as he would during dinner — as if he were oblivious to the fact that he will die soon. His relationship with his wife, too, was never simple but he made it work, and a roller coaster of irritation and arguments turned into a happy marriage. Almost a decade of estrangement from his sister turned into a happy reunion. She stands next to me, looking heartbreakingly fragile.
He lived a happy but difficult life. His last breath seemed to be the easiest thing for him, though, making me realize a truth I intend to live by: there is a gentle, almost beautiful simplicity to death; the real challenge is life.
Written in response to today’s Daily Post prompt — simplicity
I should probably start writing simpler works:D
Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments!