Inspired by a prompt on Instagram.

"You are a brain surgeon. Every time you perform a surgery, you have the ability to see memories of the patient you are operating on." - writing.prompt.s

And so, I've created this super angsty short piece. Let's cherish our fathers, mothers and the people around us, before it's too late to say goodbye. Happy Father's Day.

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Another patient comes in. This patient is frail, and his hair is ghastly white like the bleak, white hospital walls. Tears well up in your eyelids as you begin the operation. Memories of him slogging in the construction site, being scolded vehemently by his boss, coming back home with aches on his back... Memories of you shrugging away his concern, or lashing out at him for not being a powerful enough father... They all flood into your mind, like a tsunami ready to swallow you whole. But you cannot let your tears fall so easily. You can't, because you have no rights to as a child. Not when you cast him away so easily like that. All you are to him now is a surgeon to a patient.

You try not to shudder as you perform the operation, biting back tears, anger and pity at yourself and fighting for one last glimpse of redemption and hope.

But eventually... The operation fails. Even until the end, you fail to be a filial son.

When the clock turns 00:00 , you stare at the patient's bed blankly, wondering about the what-ifs. What if you held his hand during your last meeting with him? At least, you won't bid farewell like this on Father's Day.

When the clock turns 00:00, lost memories revive themselves and replay.

If only you can turn back time and change those memories to fonder ones.

If only...