The Last Mission
Life had been so good, so full of joy. He had never imagined it was possible to know such happiness. Then, cruelly had the evil hand of fate snatched it all away. So it seemed in his more disconsolate moments, though deep inside he tried to convince himself otherwise. He did not believe in fate any more than she had, but during these days of darkness it was very difficult not to slip back into old patterns of thought. He knew what she would say, that all things turned out good in the end. That this catastrophe could ever be called good he would never accept. That it might
work for good he occasionally allowed himself to contemplate, though such was an idea equally strenuous to lay hold of. Yet he knew that is exactly what she would say. For the sake of her memory he would do his best to hang on to that truth.
Her memory…and these few recordings of Handel she had given him. What a treasure they had been to share. Now these too seemed lifeless and old, the once bright coverings now scratched and faded. He could no more keep himself from the bittersweet nostalgia than he could bring her back. Though the sounds seared his heart with hot iron, it was the memory...of
her.
He had listened a hundred times before this and would a hundred times again. For in the music were many secrets, and his was the only heart that knew them. He placed the cover back in his lap, a lonely tear now falling from his eye and, continuing to rock, he let the memory of her guide his mind back many years to the day he discovered his first love.
