Anya watched as she saw her grandfather being carried away in a stretcher, and she wondered if she would ever see him again. She also wondered if she would miss him if he weren’t to return.
Anya had been crying herself to sleep when she was stirred awake by the sounds. There was a lot of movement in the house. All the grown-ups had the same look on their faces — they looked worried and looked like they were trying to hide it. She had heard about widows, and had heard people talk sympathetically about them. Her six year old mind could not understand what all the fuss was about. She certainly never wanted to be one. But today, she wondered whether she would find her grandmother draped in white sooner than she’d thought.
Her grandfather had grunted feebly while being helped into the stretcher. He had also been strapped, so that he didn’t fall off, her father said. Still, the constraints disturbed Anya and she wondered again whether they would make her grandfather not wish to return.
She wanted to get back to sleep, get back to the time when she pulled her teddy-bears by their ears and dragged them across the floor. And she certainly did not like the grim, quiet pallor that had descended upon everyone’s faces. Within all the commotion, she knew, and she was okay with her grandfather not coming back. She had decided that she wouldn’t miss him after all, especially since he never stopped her grandmother from kicking the baby in a fit of rage or sending a plateful of food flying to the floor in a hasty tantrum. Such men were not to be depended upon, she thought.
Anya wanted to slip away quietly without anyone noticing. But she didn’t notice the old French window left wide open beside her. With one small footstep towards her left, she tumbled, and never returned.
Anya had been crying herself to sleep when she was stirred awake by the sounds. There was a lot of movement in the house. All the grown-ups had the same look on their faces — they looked worried and looked like they were trying to hide it. She had heard about widows, and had heard people talk sympathetically about them. Her six year old mind could not understand what all the fuss was about. She certainly never wanted to be one. But today, she wondered whether she would find her grandmother draped in white sooner than she’d thought.
Her grandfather had grunted feebly while being helped into the stretcher. He had also been strapped, so that he didn’t fall off, her father said. Still, the constraints disturbed Anya and she wondered again whether they would make her grandfather not wish to return.
She wanted to get back to sleep, get back to the time when she pulled her teddy-bears by their ears and dragged them across the floor. And she certainly did not like the grim, quiet pallor that had descended upon everyone’s faces. Within all the commotion, she knew, and she was okay with her grandfather not coming back. She had decided that she wouldn’t miss him after all, especially since he never stopped her grandmother from kicking the baby in a fit of rage or sending a plateful of food flying to the floor in a hasty tantrum. Such men were not to be depended upon, she thought.
Anya wanted to slip away quietly without anyone noticing. But she didn’t notice the old French window left wide open beside her. With one small footstep towards her left, she tumbled, and never returned.
4 comments:
god this is grim...
:O
and poignantly written...
truly...it touches lik nethng.the concluding lines of the piece gav me shudders.wrttn wid a lot of true visualisations of emotion and poise.
Very well written, you have captured the thoughts of a child in an amazingly brilliant way.
Good read! Keep it up.
N
Eloquently written... very powerful piece!
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