The Wisk, of the wind slightly flushed up against a window as if it
was gently petting it like a child to her kitten.  The Window is opened
and there is a boy, his name who knows. His Eyes', Glazed as they
appeared to be glowing.  He Stares' with the radience feasting his eyes, on
a vision which seemed so fair.  As he sits, he turnes his head
slightly, tilting it, as soon he started to fall asleep, his hand cupped his
bottom jaw. as he then lay asleep.  A glance to his prior vision, a
graveyard accross the street.  A picture lay next to him on a small desk
with a light beamming, the light saw a man, his face that of the boy but
many years to his elder.

    Was it a Glimpse of his future.  Then reads the bottom of the
photo, "Rest In Peace, Father Of mine".  A small note, a letter by the end
of one corner linked to the photo.  Brown is the paper like of old,
close to that, Ink bottle, and a pen. Still open is the ink bottle, and the
pen still wet with ink at the tip. It had just been used.
The letter Reads.
letter;

Dearest, Mother

As you can see i used the pen and the ink.  The old mans' ink that
reads eighteen ninety two.  It was the ink i recieved, from dear old dad.
As he said and gave to me on my birthday of age seven. I saw his face.
I hope you understand. I love your bake's, from that sweet over. The
steam rising.  They Are now ready, you tell me of them.  I miss them even
now.  Age's ago this ink was used, this i know for it was given to me
half used.  Mother, you know this ink will never be used again.  I now
see my father.  It will be my birthday soon,
celebrate it well.  Festive as a birthday.  You Two i'll see someday.
That tree i used to swing on as a child, Farther and farther it goes.
 Goodbye Mother.
celebrate it well.
 -end of letter-

   The letter, there it rests to be found some hours later.  The boy,
who's lifeless now.  Used his last breath.  He used the old mans Ink For
The first and last time.