They may say that we are made of bricks, but they are mistaken. We are not built from stone, but from the raw, pliable material of life.

We are not designed to be kings, nor are we designed for any purpose, a man can dictate other actions, a man can decide his death, without the subject of fear, what is to be afraid?

We always have a choice, it’s just that, we are simply too selfish to accept it.

Some of us can't simply tolerate pain.

Or whatever this means to me anymore.

Page 998.

There a man gazing up at the sky, watching the sun, as the rays dimmed down as if it was a sign of his remaining life.

The Old man was Olen Fairer, who lived quite a tragic life ever since he was a child, and as such he was given a choice of life which he never intended to. Due to this, he spent most of his time staring in the skies, as the sun and moon revolved according to their cycle. The symphony of nature, with the gentle flow of water and the rustling of leaves, enveloped Olen immersing him in its beauty. The sun shone brightly, casting a warm glow on the landscape, filling him with a sense of serenity.

Olen caught a leaf falling right beneath a shade of a tree; as a gust of wind sailed through the forest while the birds chirped and danced before the rising sun. The forest was alive with activity, bees buzzing from one flower to the next, savoring the sweet nectar within. The scene was peaceful and serene, it made him forget about his current life as he took a deep breath, feeling the freshness of the morning air and the tranquility of the forest.

Olen lived his whole life laying on the bed, pondering if he could at least stand one day. Life was indeed cruel to him, but no matter how hard it is, he still yearned for life. Despite the sickness, Olen still wished for something, something that could at least let him see the sight, as far as the mystery that the universe holds.

Since Olen turned twelve on his birthday, he learned he had a neurological disorder known as neuroacanthocytosis syndrome, a disorder that affected movement in many parts of the body, leaving him with just two able hands to keep track of his journal. From that moment on, nothing else matters to him except for his family and his journal, and while occasionally writing stories to fill up his time.

He filled his time by writing stories in his journal, his only means of escape from his reality. His family, particularly his granddaughter, provided him with love and support, and even as they grew distant, she remained a constant presence in his life. She would often visit and bring him books, encouraging him to share his stories with others.

The old man's relatives were quite sweet, they care for the old and seem to be quite well versed when it comes to its needs, though they can call a maid to take care of, the old man still prefers the presence of the relatives he knew.

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But as time goes on, his relatives grew distant, some of those who were too busy, or some who already passed away, leaving only a few of his relative caring for him. Particularly her granddaughter, Shilla. He has been with her since she was a young kid when her parents were still alive, bringing him along with her when they have the time to visit him. His life, in a short moment of time, felt serene seeing her close, listening with his stories.

Despite the diseases he had lived through since the time he was a child. The old man's life was filled with love from her granddaughter, and as such, he grew up as a good person, a little naive though.

As days go by, her granddaughter grew up into a fine lady, spending their time less as days goes on. However, she was sensible, though the time he spends with her dwindled. She was considerate enough to at least think for a way to make him happy. Sometimes she would have brought some books with her at the expense of her money. Though he was adamant about the gift he received, but along the way she said, "cheer up old man, it's my hard work, think of it as a gift."

Looking at his granddaughter grow up brought flutters to Olen's heart. Though his body may have been decaying with time, his heart was only growing stronger. He never thought there would be a day like a lonely person like him would openly speak to the people he met every day because of her. Indeed, she was too optimistic.

Who would have thought her granddaughter would be the first one to see the gift in him. Encouraging him to speak out to the surrounding people, telling them the stories of his life, especially her life. And for a brief moment of his life remaining, he gets to feel a bag of bones like him what work feels like.

Occasionally, she would accompany him to events where he could share his tales with like-minded individuals, and he found great joy in spending time with the children who would gather around to listen. He would weave stories of dragons roaring in the sky and kings falling in love with simple women. The children's wide-eyed wonder brought him a sense of peace he had never known before.

His heart never felt more ease and peaceful from the day he met her. He looked up at the sky and thought. "For an old man like me, my eyes sure do see far, well, at least I could still see,” he said with a melancholy and joy gleaming within his eyes.

Drifting his eyes around his surroundings, a fresh flower standing near the window greeted him. The flowers' appearance never fails to astound the old man. It has a delicate fragrance and a color that suited the walls in his room. Crimson.

Through the window, one could see the nature budding and flourishing just from a single glance at its beauty. Ever since the day passed by - his world had changed, as he look at the sky with an expression of hope that seems distant to him before.

"Like another world," he responded with a sigh as he lay back on his comfortable pillow.

knock, knock.

Arriving out from the door, a female dressed in a velvet outfit and a silver necklace hanging on her neck walked through the door with her red heels visibly stepping in and entering the room. It was his granddaughter, Shilla.

"Shilla is that you, aren't you busy with your own work?" Olen replied as he slowly turns his head to the sound coming from the door.

"It doesn't matter, you should be thankful that I'm here," she replied with a smile.

"Well, if you say so. You're the only person with whom I can share my stories. It pains me when you're not by my side," Olen said.

"Stop acting like a whiny baby, old man," she said, rubbing her forehead.

"Just like my mom," he said with a sigh, looking back at Shilla.

"You know, you're getting too old to take care of me anymore. You should look for someone else," Olen said, laughing as he saw her face turn red.

"Hey old man, do you still remember the day when a kid called you a storyteller?" she said with a smile.

"Hmph, that kid has been annoying me lately. I shouldn't have told him my room number," Olen said, annoyance creeping into his voice.

"Old man, at least you're not alone now. And that kid and you are similar, his illness is not as simple as you think," she said, hesitating to continue.

"No need to say it, I'll take care of that kid, don't you worry," Olen said, with a burden heavy in his chest.

Shilla smiled and nodded. "And about that storyteller, I never thought I would see a man like you cry so heavily for someone who has gone through so much in their life," she said with a laugh.

"Hmm, those days indeed, what a shame," Olen said, as his cough worsened. Suddenly, a beeping sound filled the room. Olen's eyes fixated on the window where a crimson flower could be seen swaying desperately as if it was calling out to someone. Along with it, a gentle voice spoke. "Shilla..."

"It seems my time has come already," Olen thought, as he closed his eyes, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over him.