A young-looking man stood in the crowd of mourners; his eyes narrowed as he gazed at the casket, jaw clenching, and his lips pressed into a thin line as it was being lowered to the ground.
He couldn't believe he was watching his grandchild being lowered into the ground. How could this be happening again?
A chorus of cries and whimpers rose again. The sobbing of those who have been left is unbearable to hear.
Raindrops fell from the clouded sky, an emotional reflection of the tears that streamed down the faces of those who had come to pay their respects.
His face is contorted in a mix of sadness and anger as the funeral proceedings come to a close.
The ache in the man's chest was a familiar companion, a constant reminder of the countless farewells he had endured. Yes, indeed, this scene is very familiar to Isaac over the years. Isaac's eyes, though tinged with sorrow, held a spark of something more—a burden carried through the ages.
"Grandpa," a deep voice echoed through the cemetery, interrupting his thoughts.
Isaac looked up from his contemplation, his eyes squinting against the rain. Erin was taller than him. He looks to be well-groomed in his black suit. His forehead shows some lines indicating the start of his aging. His hair is now a mix of black and grey strands.
"Will you come with us back home?" Erin continued, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "The family... we'd like you to be there."
Isaac hesitated, a familiar pang of guilt twisting in his gut. He knew he should go, that it was the right thing to do. But...
"Thank you. But I have my car. "Isaac replied softly to his great-grandson, Erin.
Erin's expression flickered with disappointment, but he quickly masked it with a polite smile. "Also, I wanted to stay a little longer here," Isaac continued, his gaze fixed on the freshly turned soil. "To... remember."
Erin, showing understanding and respect, nods at his preferences. He placed a comforting hand on Isaac's arm, his touch warm and reassuring. "Okay, Grandpa," he said, his voice gentle. "But... we wanted to invite you into the house before you headed to your place. We prepared something to eat... a meal that Papa would have wanted us to share with everyone who attended his funeral. We'll be waiting for you there."
Isaac simply nods silently and offers a faint smile to his great-grandson.
Some mourners who have heard their conversations eyed Isaac and Erin with confusion, some with amazement, some with intrigue, and some with disbelief.
Isaac is very much aware of the possible thoughts that now consume some of the mourners. A thought that is very much familiar to him.
Then, just shortly after the last handfuls of dirt were scattered over the grave, the mourners began to disperse, leaving Isaac alone with the freshly turned soil. He remained, lost in his thoughts as the wind whispered through the trees, carrying memories of the past.
He looked up at the sky and let the rain wash over his face. He wanted to cry or shout, but no words came from his mouth.
Déjà vu.
How long would he have to keep doing this?
How far would he have to go before it was his turn to rest?
Why does he need to witness all of this?
First, it was his parents—the people who had brought him into this world. Then his siblings, his friends, his wife, and his children.
And now, his grandchild.
He clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. He doesn't want to cry.
He will not cry.
He has been here countless times.
Isaac's thoughts were a jumbled mess, his mind racing with questions and fears. But he pushed them aside, knowing he couldn't change the past or alter the course of fate. All he could do was keep going, one funeral at a time.
With a heavy sigh, Isaac started his heavy steps of resignation toward his car. The rain continued to fall, a heavy blanket of sorrow that covered the cemetery and everything in it.
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Loneliness greeted Isaac like an old friend the moment he stepped inside. Several decades ago, this place had been filled with laughter, sorrow, comfort, tensions, heated discussions, and occasional fights between him and his wife, and between his wife and their children, or between his children.
But now, the place seemed bigger to him.
Everything was lost, except for the familiarity of the surroundings.
This was where he belonged.
Alone...
His grandchildren and great-grandchildren were already old enough to build their own homes with their own families. Sometimes, during Christmas, New Year, or his birthday, they would remember him, and this place would temporarily forget its usual old song of loneliness.
As his gaze wandered over the living room, where photographs captured frozen moments, his eyes fell upon a specific image. His fingers traced the frame as his mind journeyed back to the past when the world had been captivated by curiosity.
In the photograph, taken approximately four decades ago, Isaac stood on a stage, bathed in the radiant glow of studio lights. He was flanked by talk show hosts, their faces reflecting a mixture of awe and fascination. Despite being ninety-seven years old at the time, he appeared to be only in his early twenties—an enigma that had puzzled minds and ignited discussions about the secrets behind his eternal youth.
"So, Isaac, can you share your secrets with the world?" the lady interviewer beamed, her smile carefully crafted with makeup, as she attempted to maintain a formal, professional, and friendly demeanor.
Isaac shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the studio lights feeling suddenly oppressive. "I... I don't possess any secrets," he stammered, his palms growing slick despite the frigid air conditioning. He avoided her gaze, focusing on a point just beyond the camera. "If only I knew... If only I understood... Then perhaps my life would be... ordinary."
A flicker of impatience crossed the interviewer's face, quickly masked by a practiced smile. "But surely, Mr. Abidan, there must be something that explains your remarkable... condition. The world is clamoring for answers. Are you suggesting that this is simply... random?"
Isaac swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. Memories crashed over him – Glimpses of moments in his life where he wished to be vulnerable rather than invincible. "I... I believe that the way we are designed may be unique," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it should also be... adaptable.
"That's intriguing," she purred, her eyes gleaming with interest. "Are you suggesting that life has been... challenging for you? That this gift, as some might call it, has been a burden?" She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
Isaac flinched, as if struck. He closed his eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. "I'm not sure," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Perhaps I'm not as ambitious as some. I desired a long life, yes. But I didn't want it to be an... isolated gift. What is the value of a lengthy existence if you have nothing... no one to live for?" He finally met her gaze, his eyes filled with a pain that belied his youthful appearance. "What is the point of immortality if you're the only one who gets to experience it?"
The interviewer's smile widened, a predatory gleam in her eyes. She had her soundbite. "A poignant sentiment, Mr. Abidan. But surely, there must be some advantages to your... unique situation?
Isaac distinctly recalled the sensation of his palms growing moist, despite the air conditioning being set to its lowest temperature. He could still remember how his heart had raced and how he had stammered when he spoke while the world was watching him. The corners of Isaac's lips curled into a nostalgic smile as the memories became vivid in his mind once again—the anxiousness and bewilderment that had surrounded him at that moment.
But to the world, there had been only curiosity and bewilderment as they marveled at his agelessness, his "baby face" earning him both admiration and envy.
As Isaac turned around in the living room, he caught sight of his own reflection in the life-size mirror located near the doorway of his dining room. He took further steps to approach the mirror, and the closer he got, the greater the dismay he felt rather than curiosity.
How on earth had all these things happened?
How could he appear as though he had just graduated from college when, all along, he was already 137 years old?
He studied his face, searching for any indications of aging or fatigue that someone of his age should have. Smooth and clear, his face displayed no lines or blemishes. His hair was still thick and shiny, devoid of any gray strands or bald spots. His eyes were bright and alert, without any bags or dark circles. His lips were full and pink, without any cracks or dryness. He looked as though he were a man in the prime of his youth, not like a centenarian who had outlived his entire family.
As he checked his muscles, he found no sagging or flabbiness. His bones showed no signs of fracture or arthritis. His joints maintained their flexibility and agility, lacking any signs of stiffness or pain. His organs were healthy and functional, intact and unaffected by diseases or disorders. He resembled an athlete at the peak of their physical prowess, not like a senior citizen who had endured countless illnesses.
Even the clothes he wore for that specific event betrayed him. His black suit and tie, coupled with a crisp white shirt and polished shoes, gave him an aura of mourning kin rather than an immortal anomaly who had witnessed the ebb and flow of the changing world.
Gazing intently at his reflection, an old million-dollar question arose—why did he look so young when he was so old?
Should he be grateful or curse it?
How could he make sense of all of this?
What was the purpose?
Was there someone else out there living in the same dilemma?
He desperately wanted to at least understand the reason, even though knowing it would not erase the pain. But at least he would know that his suffering was part of a bigger plan.
Maybe that would make it bearable... at least...
He sighed and shook his head, and as he was about to turn away from the mirror, his heart raced with a mix of fear and curiosity. A flicker of movement caught his eye—a sudden shift in the reflection, a distortion in the glass that made Isaac's knees unstable. His body trembled, and shivers ran down his spine.
Isaac froze, his heart seeming to jump and fall to the floor, as the figure inside the mirror materialized before him.
"Isaac Abidan, we finally meet," the creature uttered mischievously. His voice echoed through the house, sending a chilling sensation to Isaac's very core.