The Elephant Must Die

A person returns home after a long flight to attend their father's funeral. They feel uneasy about seeing their brother after 12 years. The person visits a doctor and feels stronger to confront the truth about a past event. The brother arrives early, causing tension. The person forgives their brother and father for what they did in the past. The brother denies the accusations. The person confesses to sending a letter to the authorities about a crime that happened in 1966. They feel relieved but suddenly feel intense pain in their chest and can't breathe or move their legs. Father's dead. Hopefully the oven is set to broil. A twelve-hour flight from Amsterdam to Dallas has left me without a good night's sleep for three days. Seeing my brother for the first time in twelve years makes me feel uneasy. A doctor's visit has given me the strength to kill the elephant I have carried for too long. Henry said he would arrive by noon, and time seems to have slowed as if watching sand inside an hourglass. A gentle breeze on the patio can be felt as I seal the letter on the hotel stationary. A knock breaks the silence. My watch says it's only eleven-thirty. Hello, cat, Henry said. Hello, Henry, Katrina said. Why are you staying in a dump of a hotel instead of coming home and sleeping in your own bed? Oh, Henry, anything other than a penthouse suite for you is a dump. I will never step foot in that house again. So why are you here if not for Father's funeral? And long pause as I ponder if I should tell him my cancer is back and the doctors have given me less than a year to live. Henry, I forgive you. What? You come here to say you forgive me? For what? I forgive you and Father for what you did. You're crazy. After twelve years, you fly back here to say you forgive me for you running away and leaving me and Father alone. I was awake the night Father killed Mother and I watched as you and Father cut her up and loaded her into the trunk of the car and you drove away. Lies, lies, lies, just like when we were kids. Mother was dying and in constant pain and asked Father to end her suffering. Before we left, I went to your room and I looked in on you and you were asleep in your bed. There was a loud knock on the door. I looked at my watch and I could see it was exactly noon. Hello, ma'am. A message was left at the desk for a package pickup at twelve o'clock. The concierge said, Yes, sir. Can you please drop this letter into the outbound mail for today? Thank you. Katrina said. Closing the door, a sigh of relief was felt as the truth of the confession of that stormy night in 1966 was sent to authorities. The elephant was dead and for the first time I was free from the guilt I carried for so many years. I could start living what time I had left as if I was now born again. And as I turned to head back to the patio, the burning of the coal steel could be felt being thrust into my chest over and over and over again. I can't breathe. I can't feel my legs.