His Reading Time...
It was late at night, the house was lit with one candle. The house seemed to have been built from the same trees that surrounded it.
Everything inside was wooden—thick beams overhead, rough-planked floors, shelves carved by hand, and furniture shaped with the patient craftsmanship of someone who had never known a factory. Nothing matched perfectly, yet somehow everything belonged together. The chairs had curved backs and worn arms polished smooth by years of use. Strange little carvings decorated the tables and cabinets: birds, deer, leaves, and faces whose features had almost disappeared beneath the passage of time.
At the center of the room stood a small wooden table, and on it sat the candle.
Its flame was weak, trembling whenever the cold wind slipped through the cracks in the walls. But in that house, the candle was enough. It threw a soft, uneven light across the room, illuminating the old furniture in patches while leaving the corners swallowed in darkness. The old man sat beside the table in a heavy rocking chair, freezing in his seat. The fireplace itself was large enough to warm the entire room.
But tonight, it was cold.
There had been no firewood for weeks.
The old man had not stepped beyond the house in a month. The forest around them had become less a source of shelter and more a wall, keeping them separated from whatever lay beyond it. He had used the last of the firewood long ago, burning even the smaller pieces he had once saved for the coldest nights.
Now there was only the candle. But that was the least of his problem. He had been trying to think of a way to comfort the children all around him. The rain has been going on for hours and it doesn't look like stopping any time soon. The children ran out of their rooms out of fear and banged on his door during his reading time, so he had to bring the candle outside with his to comfort the children. The power had been out for the past two weeks, and despite his efforts he can't get the power back on, he never really needed it, but now it would have saved him so much. He sits down awkwardly trying to mask the anger boiling in his chest. The only person allowed to do that was his wife but even then, she doesn't dare do it. She has always liked the fact that he took up reading as one of his countless hobbies, but since his hobbies were strange and unhinged, reading seems like a breath of fresh air to her. She always said it, she will often say, “you know it was nice of you to finally have one normal human hobby”
Oh, how much he misses her voice.
And now he hates the children for disrupting his normal human hobby. It has been a month since she pass and his harlot of a son, as the old man would describe him, decided that the old man will need some company, so he did that by dropping a bunch of preschoolers on the old man's porch then disappeared without a trace. It has been three days since then, and his reading which has been quite intriguing to him, had now always gotten interrupted.
“G—grandpa, we ar, are so ah”, Sarah screamed as the lightening didn't even let finish her sentence because brightening up the entire living room. Then all the other children cling to the one closest to the old man before shutting their eyes and covering their ears with their tiny little hands, cause they know what came next. A loud clapping sound echo tearing through the already loud rain falling from the sky, even startled the old man.
“Mmh”, he cleared his throat, “this was the loudest one yet, huh”, he had an awkward smile on his face as he tried to lighten up the mode, “I almost blind—and now I almost got deaf”. He laughed dryly. But that seems to have not worked at all, infact, it made matters worst. Originally, Sarah, Billy and Greta were the only ones crying quietly, Vando and Bando was cradle into a ball, while sitting still on the floor, with their legs folded up to their chest, and their hands wrapped around them, Zelda and Marco was to quietly sitting one each side of the old man’s legs, Shasha was too busy comforting a baby Chico, who was a pet hamster doll— nobody call her a doll though—and Mickey, well Mickey was actually fast asleep. But right after the old man said that, Shasha stood up abruptly and yell,”Grandpa!, are you blind?, did the bright light make you blind?” Before the old man could explain. Sarah started crying loudly this time, ”oh No! Grandpa is blind!!!”. Marco who had been quiet along quipped in, “and deaf too”. Sarah, Billy and Greta cried but this time even louder, with Zelda join the group. Vando and Bando are now rocking back and forth like they were hit a sudden rush of anxiety. Marco oddly enough stood up to try to diagnose the old man by yelling at his face if he could hear him and see the number of fingers he was holding up. Shasha pickup Chico, started rocking her to sleep while telling her that if Grandpa dies she will be there for her baby.
And at this moment the old man actually wish he was blind and deaf, or even dead so he could be with is wife, that way they could talk about all the novels she wrote for him in detail instead of just reading them.
Mickey was still asleep, so that's good...
