Michael and his father Robert were walking to the old shelter that will be sold the day after to a stranger. That shelter was their very first home... Robert was a little young boy when his parents built the shelter. That's why, Robert didn't want to give up the shelter. However he did long time ago, after Michael was born...
That day would be the last day that they can see the shelter, because the new owner wanted to replace it with a modern cottage. Michael and Robert were walking slowly to try to postpone the inevitable separation. Robert was holding his hat behind him, but Michael didn't know the secret under the hat...
When they reached the front door, Robert had stopped for a second and turned to his dearie son. Said; "Can you please wait me outside? I just want to be alone for a while. Promise, that will not be so long...". Michael obeyed his father's request, and walked to the forest where his childhood had been spent. He began to whistle, in an unaware mood about the things would happen in a short time.
Robert went into the shelter and closed the door after him. He crouched down to the corner that Michael was born. Took out the photograph of his beautiful wife and began to stare at her lovely face. Realised that he really missed everything about her, her smile, her laugh, her love... Suddenly a tear had dropped from his tired old eyes. Wiped that one meaningful tear with his kerchief which had been made by his wife. Then turned to his hat and revealed his little secret to the sunlight. A revolver... It was his service revolver from his military duty in the army. He didn't mention about the revolver to anybody, even to his only love.
While that tragic scene was happening, Michael had dived into the memories which could last forever... His childhood, his friends, his first love... What a wonderful memories, unique stories...
'BAM'... Michael suddenly recoiled just like waking up from a smooth fresh dream. Could make nothing of that sound. However realised that something was wrong. He was little bit far away from the shelter and began to run to the shelter to understand the dry sound. Maybe a hunter killed an innocent dear, maybe a woodman cut a oxygen maker... With these thoughts, he had reached to the shelter. He opened the front door, and could not move, say anything in the face of the scene. His father was holding his hidden service revolver in his poky left hand...
