WRITTEN BY :

". . . One day you'll be blind like me. You'll be sitting here, a speck in the void, in the dark, forever, like me."

("Endgame" by Beckett)

Strange moments again...

One by one. Events are going to happen one after the other again to provide you with a pair of glasses with which you can or maybe you cannot see much more differently than how you used to.

Some more dried tears changed into words.

Yes! Words! These strange shapes, carrying with them the absence of meaning all the time!

Just like a commander who has lost all his party in a mortal battle.

But . . .

If there were any statues there, there would certainly have to be an old blind man, taking it as his only hope, spending much of his time beside it, telling it about his grieves.

At the age of 82, he still couldn't bear his loneliness.

His writings were his only legacy and he pretended to write even when he was not doing so just before he had not lost his eyesight.

His blind characters would try to touch anything whose identity was vague to them.

The statue was of a great importance to him as it was to his wife and she had always asked him to like it as much as she did like it herself.

As his wife's death-bed soliloquy consisted of vague sentences, asking him to search for their life's truth on the body of that statue.

It was their life's spirit as his wife would call it.

"I can understand. But I have felt so many strange things, so many baseless things assuredly, that they are perhaps better left unsaid".

They were the words he would often tell his wife, the closest stranger to him.

Having believed that the world will come to an end soon, the bitterest tears coming into his eyes were hidden behind his laughter.

"I've had nothing else to do except to predict an eventless tomorrow, like yesterday, the other day or even last year."

Were the words he muttered to himself and believed, "But it's not easy to predict even the next moment . . . The end of the world is near . . . "

On that sunny day whose life-giving warmth he could feel, he made his mind to meet Mr. Graves, his old old friend to tell him about his new feelings, but as he was told by Mr. Grave's servant that he is out for a walk, he regretted having done so.

He made his mind to go back to the statue.

Now it was very difficult for him to find the statue, although he had gone there for many many times.

As he was wandering, he didn't know what would happen if he couldn't find it and what the statue would think if he didn't go to him someday.

"Oh . . . That's it . . . Here it is . . . Just as it was . . ." He shouted as he could feel the statue with his cane.

He was where, not very long ago, his wife would stand and would draw on a piece of paper some new designs to change the shape of the statue.

As he closed his eyes to see much more darkly, he reflected deeply about his life and its events such as his birthday, marriage, his wife, his loneliness,...

As he was listening to the wind blowing, he could hear vague sounds which he couldn't comprehend.

He would not care about the wind so much as he did then.

All the dead voices were talking at once, just like leaves, as they were not pleased neither with their lives nor with their deaths.

He murmured, "Between death and life . . . There are surely big differences . . .Very very big differences . . . Big differences . . . No . . . Maybe no differences at all . . . "

He asked himself why Hera _ his wife _ had asked him to have the statue in his mind and never to forget it at all.

He suspected if there were any reasons for that.

As he had not approached the statue before, he made his mind to get closer to it this time and touch it for the first time in his life.

His hands were trembling as he touched the head of the statue and he was almost dying when he felt something carved on the neck of it.

"Hera's Grave", were the words carved on that.

As he made his mind to open his eyes, he was very shocked to have gained his eyesight at that evening again just as he felt something on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry I was not home!" Mr. Grave told him.

Shocked by all these events, he shouted and ran away.

That night, as he was trying to finish his essay, he was surprised to see his room after such a very long time he was not able to see anything.

As he went to bed late that night, he very much wished to see the sunrise tomorrow and going to the statue and spend all his day with that.

He said, "In the sunshine and the daylight, it will be very pleasing to SEE the statue instead of FEELing it again."

He dreamed about the statue the whole night and he only thought about the reason why Hera had asked him not to join her funeral.

It was already another day. Tomorrow had come at last.

The same tomorrow and the same days in which the statue would never see any one touching it any more.

His prediction was true. The end of the world had come.