The front porch door creaked as the man stepped in, with slow, frail steps onto the carpet. He went on to take off his coat and lit the stick of candle, now only a fourth of its original length. The flame was barely enough to light up the room.

From afar, the house’s size appeared to be that of a large, abandoned mansion. The old man walked deeper into the living room, bending down to pick up a small piece of peeled paint from the walls. When he reached it, he found he was not alone.

At the sound of footsteps, a young man turned from the couch and got up from his sleep, his eyes half-opened due to the sudden light. It was nearly midnight. “It is horribly late to be downstairs at this hour.”

The old man put a sealed bag on the table, ignoring the remark. He lit a cigar with the candle, now even shorter than before.

“And what is that antiseptic smell? Tell me, where were you this late at night?” The young man was fully upright now, still leaning on the couch.

“Nowhere special, just at the hospital doing the regular checkups.” He sounded rather solemn compared to his usual demeanor.

“Well, what did they say?”

“Just to take my daily medicine.” The old man pulled out a small bottle of medicine from his pocket, resting it on a desk. The bottle stood starkly in contrast with the pill boxes behind it.

He stood still for an instant, then took a deep breath. “I also had a brief talk with the doctor, just the symptoms that I told you about yesterday.”

“Sleepiness, a nosebleed, and a few bruises,” said the young man lightheartedly, “I’d say you're wasting your own time, it's probably just a cold from the weather.” With this, silence descended again. After a while, the old man opened the sealed bag, keeping it face down, and took out a scribbled piece of paper, and spoke.

“Anything else you noticed?”

“You looked quite pale lately, perhaps…because of your worsening dementia?” The old man glanced at the paper, his face darkening, and he carefully put the paper back into the bag. He slowly pulled a chair across the living room towards the young man, still holding the candle. The flame flickered as he moved, revealing his silhouette. He was rather a tall man if without his hunched back. The old man took a seat, looked around, and hesitated. The young man turned.

“Em, have you, well, ever wondered… what’s on the other side?” The old man asked uneasily.

“You mean death?”

“Yes.”

“Why ask now?”

“You know, if one day one of us happens to leave this world…”

“Don’t be silly.” The young man sat up and took a drink from his cup. “You sure have been acting strange these days, ever since that first time you went to the hospital.”

“I picture that there would be mythical landscapes, fairy tales alike…” The old man murmured, ignoring the young man once more. “There would be true happiness, away from the evil nature in the human heart, away from the struggles for survival, freedom.” He turned to the young man. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we end up in a paradisiacal place like that?”

“Didn’t you dream of going there as a kid?” The candle burned even lower. “I’d love to go to such a place if it was not so imaginary.”

“They say the afterlife is indeed imaginary… what if it was really that perfect?”

“Well, I sure will be happy in such a place. It’s a beautiful dream.”

“What if I tell you that such a place exists?” The old man leaned in, real close. “That I have seen it with my own eyes? I am afraid of losing you, son. We can enjoy eternal happiness, forever.”

The young man, perplexed, carefully put his cup back down. “Then I would go there with you.” He said in a soothing tone as if consoling him.

With that, the old man stood up and walked towards his desk with the pills. He took one last draw of his cigar and extinguished it, throwing it into the bin when there was still quite a lot left to savor. Then, he walked to the kitchen to warm some milk. The young man rose and looked at the light source, only to see the dim figure of the old man outside of the tinted kitchen window.

The young man lay down once more on the couch in a sleeping position.

Silently, except for the rustle of something being thrown into the bin, the old man walked towards the young man, hesitating once more before handing him the warm milk. “Have a good night’s sleep.” The young man took a sip, savoring the flavor whilst raising a slight eyebrow. Nonetheless, he gave the empty cup to the old man, who watched the young man finish the cup. The old man turned away, to go upstairs. Just as he was about to reach the corner, he turned.

“Son?”

“Yes?”

“Son, I just want you to know, that whatever happens,” the old man took a deep breath, “I love you.” With that, he walked upstairs to his room, the candle in his left hand, now barely lit, and the cup of milk in his other.

He did not sleep, instead, he dressed up under the dim, flickering flame. He took a deep breath once more and gulped the entire cup of milk. It tasted, under the rich, milky flavor, slightly like bitter almonds. He sat down on his bed, his thoughts flowing once again to the land of happiness, where they stayed. When the flame finally died out, the house once again descended into dead silence. The only audible sound was perhaps a few screeches from the crows outside the second-floor window.

The old man never found his happiness.