Trepidation replaced the interminable melancholy as I entered the room, which stood erect for years and is now inundated with dust. At one corner of the room lay a swollen mass of crammed paper: a multitude of greatest works of the greatest writer unbeknown to anyone.

As I skirted around the room rummaging for his work, I had an epiphany that the oldest resident,other than my dad's soul, are the spider who have beautifully encrusted the walls with cobwebs. There was a thin creek meandering from the tap making it way all the way down ruining the once-used-to-be garish paint. The dilapidated walls seemed to be pockmarked with a volley of bullets, one of which went through my dad.

I could smell his essence emanate as I dusted his timber bed and I could almost imagine him opening his eyes at dawn and shutting them again, only yo find that sleep had escaped him. He would then wake up and crib about his useless back and fumble towards the cattle to fill the room with caffeine, just the way he wants!

I, by now, was soused with tears as memories filled in. There were bouts of intermittent blow of dust and dirt along the gush of the wind which stuck to my tears. The dust that had sat there- the dust that contained his essence would be cleared away and all the unpublished scribbles would remain unpublished; hence unclaimed.

I picked up the crammed and partially torn paper. His writings and words always invigorate me; gives me the strength tofight and live for myself in this callous epoch.

The gloomy room waited to be lit and the one-time-used-to-be plush bed awaited for dad to lounge upon and do all his captivating work, to write and sing to mom. The once used desk, which exposed all his creation, now contorted and encrusted with specks of Grey and stains of brown.

I felt so alone in the room. The weird, unnatural kind of alone that bore me into. It was a feeling beyond fear and something to the left of sadness. It was dark and gloomy, and yet, it didn't seem that things would be better if the lights were turned up. It was a feel of disgust;feel of being helpless, not being able to help dad achieve his dreams and be known for his works.

Now another face gone, another presence slowly dissipated from memory. Another life's worth of work to be left unacknowledged just as anyone else's and another time I am bound to being helpless!