Enslaved Guardians

The pen tucked in between his forefinger and the middle finger moved up and down, as the white dim light of the table lamp bulbed his face engrossed in deep thoughts.

The pen stopped and started drooling out ink, some wobbly words were printed on the paper and then a hand moved to cut them off and scrunched the paper to threw it among a pile of other crumpled papers in a black basket placed beside the table.

"C'mon it's not that hard. Just write it down."

He picked the half-lit cig from the ashtray and took some puffs before proceeding with another attempt to write a letter.

Grey ringlets of smoke blew out of his mouth as he peered through it and wrote on the paper,

"Dear Father,"

  And stopped.

'What's next?' he pondered.

From the past two hours, he had made thousands of attempts, wrote the same two words, and cut off the pap