"It had set into a rhythm. A long chat after work. Lazing in the room. Settling with a cup of food and her. They'd talk. Endlessly. About everything. Sometimes about nothing. It was a ritual. It meant something. Or so he thought.
But the more deep the waters got, the more the swimmer's life is tossed into the mercy of the sea. And thus one day, when all this depth of sharing and caring and meaning grew over bearing, he panicked and ran.
A coward."
Grandma looked up from The children's tale book of the big bad world. The kids looked at her with eyes full of pained anticipation.
She sighed. Then smiled. And continued to read.
January 11, 2011
Short story- 16
She scribbled and a tear smudged the paper. She folded the sheet and gave it to the grave-etcher. Her eyes looked pained. She nodded and departed, leaving him standing with the folded bit of paper.
He picked up his tool bag and slung it on his shoulder. He opened the paper.
"Here lies the grave of a coward who couldn't appreciate the beauty of things he had. Who played a million lies throughout his life. A man, who despite being loved truly, did not want it. A man who died, in the end, wishing to change his past. May his pitiable soul rest in peace."
He picked up his tool bag and slung it on his shoulder. He opened the paper.
"Here lies the grave of a coward who couldn't appreciate the beauty of things he had. Who played a million lies throughout his life. A man, who despite being loved truly, did not want it. A man who died, in the end, wishing to change his past. May his pitiable soul rest in peace."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)