The Shadow of Dark Death. “Hasn’t he slept well?”, She asked me about my father who was still awake.
“He looks he’s never slept. It has been a long time I always hear his voice. Noon up to noon again. It never stops.”
“Why is he acting like that?”
“I do not know? Whole event that happened, it seems to be his business”
“Be sure, he had forgotten something!”
Mom and I were arguing about my father who was pacing in front of the television. His anxiety used to emanate from the movement he made. Whether it’s the way she folded sarong, or moved his fingers clenching and un-clenching like pumping something. I was worried about it when I was about that. For when I was about blood donor, the nurse at the hospital asked me to clench and open palms, she asked me to do this to make the blood would be flowing smoothly. I was worried my father’s blood would flow through his body even blow his own heart.