MERCENARY OF DELUSION

Robinson Millers was sitting in his cozy apartment flat, sipping a hot cup of earl grey.
He was a gregarious man who was not at all disputatious by nature. He led a
humdrum life, which involved going to office for his desk job and coming back. He
longed for the fieldwork, but as he went higher in the hierarchy of FBI, he earned
himself a desk-job.
For the past couple months; he had been having very strange dreams. He didnt
quite know what the dreams meant, but it was impalpable to him that they were
saying something. Most of the times all he saw was a dark room where a large clock
was hung on a wall, but something was wrong with the clock, it looked more of a
timer and less of a clock. In his dreams, every time the timers counter struck zero,
he would wake up, sweating profusely and shaking with fright. Though he was
supposed to be at the J. Edgar Hoover building of FBI at that time, he had taken a
day off, as he needed time to ponder over his bizarre dreams
Though Millers wasnt normally scared of anything but these dreams always gave
him Goosebumps.
On that cold day of December, the sun had come out after a long time. Slowly the
cozy weather took over him and he drifted off to sleep.
The dreams came to him once again. But today they werent like the previous once;
he saw something else, something different, and something that took the living
daylights out of him.
He imagined himself, standing at the doorstep of his own home. He slowly moved
forward, but his movement wasnt quite human, it seemed to him as if he was a spirit
who was floating rather than walking. He went through the front door, and into the
living room. His fathers life size portrait hung at the opposite wall, he floated towards
it and then went through it. Now, he was back in that room which he had seen earlier
in his dreams, and the large clock was also there.
Millers woke with a start, thinking about the weird dream he had just seen.
Could it really be true? He thought as got up from the couch and started towards to
the living room. .
His fathers portrait was there all right, staring down at him with the big blue eyes. It
seemed to him as if his fathers gaze was following him as he walked. His father,
Jacques Millers had been a scientist at the Human Body Research Institute. He was
a very intransigent and complacent man. After he had been abandoned for doing
performing eerie experiments, he went rogue and now even Millers didnt know
where his father was. All men in the Millers family were known to serve in the FBI,
except his father.
He walked towards the portrait and tried pushing it. The portrait moved an inch.
There was disquietude in the air. He pushed with all his strength and finally the heavy
oak wood masterpiece gave way.
He was amazed to see that behind the portrait, a gargantuan bookshelf was
concealed. Excited by his queer finding, he started taking out a book and two from
the top shelf and examining them. All of them must have been very old, at least from
the 1950s. He felt dissonance for not knowing about it. He started pulling out more
books, but suddenly he stopped. Something at the back of the bookshelf had caught
his eye. Something was etched there.
Whats that written, he thought as he took out the books from in front of it. When he
had taken out all the books from the top rack, he could see the message clearly.
Etched with what seemed like fingernails, it read for the little things in life, we tend to
give up the big ones
The moment he read the quote, he was inundated into a flashback.
It was six months ago; it was Millers birthday. He had wanted to commemorate it
alone, so he had bought a bottle of Rose Flint and was enjoying it in peace. At

around ten, his doorbell rang; he opened the door irritated. But on look at the visitor
changed all his irritation to surprise. It was his dad and he had a present for him.
Millers couldnt decide what to feel, happiness, agony or amazement. His father had
come to his home at least after a year and it had been two months since he had gone
rogue. But he welcomed his father inside, both of them drank the wine and his father
handed him the gift and on it was the same as on the bookshelf. He never thought of
opening the gift, as he was still angry with him.

Suddenly, he woke up to the sound of ringing bells, and realized that

all this had been a dream. He was still in the monastery, where he
had come to forget his past. But it would never leave him. Peace
was nowhere to be found.