Short story I recently wrote - Memento Mori

January 28, 20-- 

Today marks 6 months since I left my house for one reason: My father didn’t want me to be an artist because he says it isn’t a profitable job like his, I wanted to prove him wrong, I wanted to show him I can make a proper life by myself... Wanted, where did all that inspiration go? Maybe he was right because, so far, my work isn’t great, and today I built a small birdhouse-like calendar, and out of frustration, I wondered “How long until I die?” Maybe then I’ll be appreciated... 

February 15, 20-- 

Each time I put the right date on the calendar, the next day, it marks some sort of countdown, no matter how much I change it, and now that I remember what I asked when I built it... If I knew how much time I’m left to live, will I try to be better and do more? Today I take that as a challenge and see if, by then, I will achieve what I always desired to become and show my father how wrong he was about me, I already thought painting a pilgrim leaving his commune in search of what lies beyond visible heavens.  

May 19, 20-- 

I finally obtained some recognition since I took the countdown as a challenge, I improved enough to get my dream painting exhibited and, in a church, I got called to make some stained glasses. Today I took a break from such work when I heard a familiar voice in a confessional, a man was saying he regrets being so harsh with his son... It was my father... He didn’t see me, and I think he arrived too late to be sorry; later, the bells tolled 16 times even though it was not 4:00 PM... 

June 1st, 20-- 

I cancelled my participation for my first exhibition outside this city in case there’s an accident on the way and I die, but that doesn’t seem to delay the countdown, I feel nervous for how little is left and even more scared to think there is one thing missing in my life beyond having the recognition I already found, so now, if I there’s an opportunity to make one last piece and have people see it is an sculpture of a past self, carrying with the body of present self, it shall be named Memento mori. 

June 4, 20-- 

I could have been hit by a speeding car on my way to the local art exhibition, but unfortunately, it was my son who took the worst part, and it’s because of him that I’m safe now, he said he finally understood the last thing he wanted last beyond recognition, is that I forgive him as much as I ask him so, our last moment resembled an sculpture he made, and now that I took some of his art for my house, it’s strange that a birdhouse-like calendar he made always marks the date with 0.