The Last Storyteller (First Edition) | Page 61

Crippled Soul I cannot believe what I have been witnessing. Isn't it ironic that those persons that we try to put in the dark corner of our memory box, appear suddenly at that moment of life when we can't afford any burden of conscience? This unwanted appearance makes us more pathetic when we have convinced ourselves that whatever we did in our lives was not worthless; that the life we have spent was not so futile and absurd, as is the case with the majority. However, there is another court, in our internal self, that gives its own verdict. Now we start suppressing that internal voice. We lull our conscience, but, in spite of all of our firm efforts, it becomes more violent. Even, sometimes, it breaks its boundary, destroys our wellmaintained external world, and leaves ridiculous imprints on our faces. Why has he appeared, at this moment of life, when I was about to forget him? How pitiful it is that in this one moment, only one moment amongst millions of moments, is going to erase all my efforts of thirty years! This pitiless one moment does not care about the hard work of Page | 61