the garden path was cleared, leaving no impediments, but jake’s grandfather was always cautious, knocking his stick before himself, and tracing his way, sensing objects. the loss of eyesight, to him, had been gifted very early in life. monumentally had he overcome it, by becoming a master, of seeing without his eyes. when Jake wasn’t at his workplace, you could only find him by his grandad. With the empty halls of the house, surrounding the noise of void, there they were, the two of them, against all odds, finding joy and reasons to laugh. but it was only a week ago, where they were robbed, robbed of every prospective instance, where they could even grin. the grandfather had aged, and last week had lost his ability to hear. he thought, how closer to death can one get, with only one’s shrieking voice as aid, with darkness blinding, and the silence ever-so deafening? he wasn’t a master anymore, not of anything, but he was robbed. thus, there he was, ...