Tranquility for his father’s memories. He saw them jitter across the radio spectrum, and his tears moved in tandem. Nothing he could do. Not anymore. Telco reapers continued to perform their death rite, coaxing the sap of life across their high-frequency channels. Recognition slipped from his father’s eyes until only emptiness reflected his utter insignificance. Nothing else left to live for.
Something I wrote last year. It hits harder since what happened with my father recently.