The Passion House

The sun was shining brightly when a farmer was walking towards the market from his small farmland. With a vegetable-filled twine basket on his back, he trotted slowly on the mountainside with a rod on his right hand. The heat started to take its toll on his aged tanned skin as he felt the sweat on his forehead. It was already 9 in the morning. He needed to sell his harvest to the market or he won’t be able to eat for the day. His dirty clothes were freshly washed but looked worn due to constant wearing and the dirt from the street. Passing through his usual route, the dust brought by the passing vehicles made him sneeze. His old body began to tremble as he clumsily stepped on his holed worn white turned brown slippers, and broke it. He let out a sigh as he picked it up and started limping because he only had one slipper left, continued to his quest. Soon enough, he saw a river that triggered his thirst. Once he got to the riverbanks, he sat, cupped his hands, and took some water to drink. Afterward, he looked up at the sunny blue sky. It was so clear. There was no trace of clouds nor a warning for immediate rain. The nice weather made him close his eyes to take a bit of rest.

The sound of the engines, alongside the music of birds, chirping, and the gentle hum of the rushing water could be heard not too far from where he was. As he listened, he remembered the incident that happened just two days ago on the bridge. It caused quite a stir in his peaceful community. He opened up his eyes and looked at it a few meters away from him. The news said the victims were siblings and, although one of them was of legal age, the driver was a minor. 

“What were they thinking? Kids nowadays,” he thought to himself and started to look away to go back to walking. However, he caught a glimmering thing under the sunlight on his peripheral vision. Curious, he turned to look at it. After a minute of deliberation, he decided to go near the object and picked it up. There, he saw a shiny silver notebook. When the light kissed its surface, the cover glittered like shards of a broken mirror as it winkled furiously like stars under a night sky. The only difference was, at that time, it was day. He accidentally dropped the notebook when he saw the sun’s reflection on it. It was so bright he felt it nearly blind his eyes. He picked it up again, afraid that the dirt would cling to it.

He studied the structure of the notebook. It was about an inch thick silver-sequined notebook. A type of journal, he figured, Something like most girls would like. He opened the first few papers and saw sets of neatly written pages. He decided to keep it and went on.

After selling all his vegetables, he bought a new pair of slippers and some groceries then went home. It looked exactly like the one he had been wearing. The sun was setting. The frogs were croaking. The crickets were crying. The cold breeze gently caressed the trees to dance. The river hummed. The owls howled. His slow footsteps resembled a maestro’s cue to a go. All of these gave life to the night he was treading on. Surprisingly, he thought, I am not feeling lonely today. He continued walking. As he was getting nearer to his house, he noticed some small flashing lights along the way, "It must be the firefly season." He stopped for a while and began admiring the company of those little critters playing around him. 

Following the fireflies, a lake came to his view. The waning moon shone brightly and reflected its might on the peaceful waters along with hundreds of fireflies. The ambiance made him stop in his tracks. He stood there in awe towards the sight that needed to behold. The cold night air, the bright moon, the clear sky, the glittering stars, the calm waters, and the presence of fireflies bewitched him enough to forget the soreness of his old and frail body from the day hike. He himself knew how rare it was to witness such a phenomenon. He felt like an invited guest and everything around him was meant for him to see. That day, he knew he got lucky. He laid out his hands and just let the insects play tag on his fingers. On the right side of the lake, he saw silhouettes of animals drinking water from the lake. There was a deer. There were horses. There were even fishes jumping, too. He also saw swans flying down towards the lake. It was as if he was brought back to the time of Genesis where everything was made to create beauty, balance, and life. Is this the reason why I had to live up to this day? Then, after a while, the animals have dissipated and went to continue living in their own peaceful community. He then continued on his trail while appreciating the service of his new pair of feet protectors and the night’s company along the way. 

After hours of walking, he reached his empty cottage. He left his torn slipper outside his home and went inside. He lighted up a small gas lamp on his table to serve as a light in his humble home, laid down his basket under it, and went to his kitchen to boil some water. He was comforted with the thought of arriving at his home. 

His house was nothing near to grand. It was made from pieces of wood and sacks. A small table and chair could be seen in front of the window, on the left side of the door. There was a small bed with a single pillow and blanket in the corner of his four-walled home, too. A small kitchen was visible on the right where he could cook his food and it also served as his little chimney when the cold days would come. There is a door across the entrance where his toilet and bath were. His house was never like the modern houses everyone sees to this day. At least, it’s cozy for an old man like me, he told himself. He was never fond of grandiose things, all he ever cared about was to live a peaceful life, and he claimed he already enjoyed it. He did what he liked, and that was to farm. He bought what he wanted and that was food and necessities. He was also able to be one with nature with the kind of lifestyle he lived in. What else can I wish for?

He remembered the journal he found earlier that day, took it from his basket, and stared at it for quite a while. He thought to himself, “What if I’m invading this owner’s privacy?” He decided to look at the remaining pages of the notebook. He sat on the chair comfortably. “I’ll just check it out to find who the owner is and return this to her, or make use of the remaining empty pages,” he whispered to himself. 

As he was scanning through the pages, on the blank sheets, some, he found them torn. He thought that the owner might have been a fool for ruining such a pretty notebook. He figured he could no longer use it. He decided to throw it inside the trashcan under his table. He was going to check his water when a thought came to his mind. He recognizes that one of the torn on the pages resembled a letter R.

He quickly went back to the notebook to confirm his assumption. Hence, in it, he found the desperation of the owner as it was evident that he or she must have tried to write through an ink-less pen-- tearing the paper-- the words, 

HELP US!

A few pages after,

IT IS REAL!

He saw some streaked lines on the pages that proved that there had been drops of water on it- or as he guessed- tears. 

Suddenly, he felt himself shiver as the cold wind visited his humble home. He could hear the grumbling of thunder from a distance. Rainwater also started to pour on his roof. Bearing the heaviness he sensed from the messages inside the notebook, he got paranoid. He nervously locked his door and closed his window. He covered the hollows of his home with some dirty sacks because he had no curtains. All for the attempt to protect himself from the cold or the unknown antagonist the owner of the journal had been running away from. He was afraid that someone might be able to catch him reading the notebook. He blew off his candle and killed the fire on his chimney to not attract some passersby with the light from his little hut. He then laid on his bed and covered himself with his thin blanket while instinctively holding onto the notebook tighter as the hair on his neck stood up. The crickets continued crying as the frogs started to croak. The owls howled as he heard footsteps of animals just outside his door. At that moment, he decided that just for the night, just for that one night, he would bear the coldness of the dark.