(using words from the right page)
"No one is to blame. Sometimes it's just impossible to goal." I said to Jeoffery, as he was lying on the sofa dejected, his body bruised all over after an intense football match.
"But our win is predicted by the myths." refuted Jeoffery, grasping this old shabby black book supposedly passed over by his "ancestors". "The victory should've been mine!"
"Yes you can choose to believe in myths. Or you can get up and move on with this defeat. Who knows? Maybe people read the prophecy wrong." I was trying very hard to stay patient. I decipse crazy superstitions. In the past, I would have just walked on him. But Jeoffery is still recovering from a severe brain damage, it is not sensible to argue with him while he is still reconstructing his memories and identity, however insane the stories might sound to me.
"Are you tired of me, Leslie?" Jeoffery seems to have sensed my frustration and asked somewhat timidly.
"It should not be you. It's 'us'. You and me, getting over this together. The dark days will pass, and things must be OK again. I know the pain seems infinite, but each one of us gets through that. The night will pass. Glory will be attained. We shall create our own future."
"Like the prophecy said?" asked Jeoffery hopefully.
"Yes, like the prophecy said." I smiled.
I will never give up on Jeoffery, my dear dear brother. You are all I have now.
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