Ventures of an indie game developer

Thrice a sinner


He was young and scared shitless. He lied to his mother and told her that he was going for a coffee, but convinced his dad to leave the hospital. He didn’t want to stay a minute longer. He later learned that she’d asked the hospital staff to wait just a little bit longer, as her son and husband would soon return – they where just out for a quick coffee. But the operation had to move forward on schedule, and her family never came back. The operation ended badly and after a few days in intensive care she died.

Four years later his dad could neither cope with with the uselessness of retirement nor the sorrow of his loss. Dying from depression the father didn’t even leave a note. The sick dad strung a rope over a beam in the barn and left his body to be found by his only child.

The son grew up to be kind, gentle and most generous. He could always be counted on to lend a helping hand. But even the best of fairytales must come to an end. Six days ago the son put on his favorite shirt and pants. Now himself ill and overpowered by aged heartrending guilt, he scribbled a note and placed it by the basement door, which he knew his wife wasn’t going to enter for at least eight hours. Then he gathered a leathal doze of sleeping pills, crushed them in a glass, mixed with water and drank. Finally he closed the door on the guest room, lay down in bed, thought his last thoughts of his loved ones and received his final punishment.

Many hours later his wife came home and read the note. At first she looked at it in disbelief. But he had promised! Then the paralysis let go and she cried the name of her husband, while ferociously running through the house. She lunged towards the garage, but no body there. She went into the garden, but no body hanging from the trees. She found his body in the guest room.

I forgive you father, for you have sinned. And we forgive you, for you are still alive. Now let us help you live again. Please don't leave! We love you - now and forever.

About the author

Mitt foto
Gothenburg, Sweden