This is a short story i wrote for my Creative writing assignment in class.
The rooster
crows. It’s 5.30 in the morning and the sun is yet to rise. I look out of my
window to see the far-stretched mountains half-hidden by clouds. It is the same
beautiful view I see every morning. But nothing is the same today. Papa is
gone. If he were here, he would have come straight to my bed, woke me up and
wished me a good morning. But Papa is gone.
It’s a cold
morning and it feels good to snuggle up in my warm blanket but I am feeling
lonely. I just cannot bear to stay in my room any longer. I arranged my bed
like Papa had always told me and headed straight to the kitchen. Mama and Ayo
are already up and preparing breakfast. There is silence except for the
crackling sound of the freshly burned wood, which is supposed to be welcoming
on such a cold morning but it isn’t today. Papa is gone. If he were here, he
would have sat by the fireplace and read the paper out loud for the whole
family to hear but Papa is gone.
I can see Mama’s
swollen eyes but she is trying to force a smile. Ayo has a blank empty look.
But no one says a word. The silence is suffocating. I am eight years old and I
do not know so many things but I know the silence is not going to help us. Both
Mama and Ayo thinks I cannot really comprehend death. Maybe that’s why they are
silent. But I want to tell Mama that I understand Papa is dead and I know he is
never coming back.
Mama hands me a cup
of tea. I take a sip and wait for her to say something. She sits right beside
me on the wooden chair that Papa had specially made for her. She’s looking at
me with that forced smile. She must have found it strange that I didn’t cry at
Papa’s funeral yesterday.
Yesterday.
Yesterday is still so clear in my mind. I had woken up the same way I did
today. Arranged my bed, had breakfast in the kitchen with Papa reading out the
paper to all of us. I hurriedly got ready for school. It was our school’s
sports day and we get to play a lot of games. I couldn’t wait to reach school.
My friends would be waiting for me at the bus stand. I ran out of the house
without looking back. Papa was standing at the gate waving at me with a loving
smile. And that was the last time I saw him smile.
At school, we
had played lots of games and I had even got the second position in the running
race. It was almost afternoon. I was relishing the orange Rasna juice our
teachers had given us when my uncle came up and said I needed to come home. I
didn’t want to go. We still had lots of games to play and I might get the
chance to win again. They were giving out small trophies for all winners. I
wanted to take some home and show it off to Papa and Mama. Uncle grabbed my
hand and I was a bit annoyed. I couldn’t understand why he wanted me home. He
wasn’t smiling and he said something had happened to Papa.
When we reached
home, i noticed that there were lots of cars parked outside our house and I
could hear wailings. Someone took me to our living room. The room was full.
Everybody was wearing black. I was in my school uniform. A coffin was placed in
the middle with wreaths and bouquets of flowers placed on the sides. All the
wailings in the room was sickening me. I made my way towards the coffin. Mama
and Ayo were sitting right beside the coffin and crying out loud. I had never
seen them that way.
In the coffin lied
my Papa. His eyes closed as if he was sleeping peacefully. I touched his
cheeks. It was cold and stiff. Touching his cold lifeless body with my warm
hands, somehow I thought I could bring life to him again if only I could warm
up his body. Uncle had said something had happened to Papa. Papa was dead.
I sat there. I didn’t cry. I could not cry.
My tears won’t come out. All I felt was numbness. No, Papa can’t be dead, Papa
can’t be dead. He had waved me goodbye this morning. He had promised to take me
out if I won any of the games. Christmas was coming soon. Papa had bought all
the lights, the Christmas tree and the star. We were supposed to decorate it
when I come back home from school. No, Papa can’t be dead.
I stared at Papa’s
lifeless body. I touched his face again. Still cold and stiff. Mama held me in
her arms. She was still crying. She touched Papa’s face and said, “Look your
son has come. How can you leave us? Please wake up, your son is here, your son
is here.....” I did not cry.
The Pastor had
arrived. Someone had told me that he would be holding the funeral service soon
and after that Papa would be buried at the cemetery. The service was short. My
uncle sang a song for Papa. It was a hymn, “On Jordan’s stormy bank”, Papa’s and
my favourite song. We had sung the song the previous night too. After dinner,
Papa had brought out his guitar and we had sung together. Papa kept on singing
even when I was falling asleep. “Sickness and sorrows, pain and death are felt
and fear no more. When shall I reach that happy place and be forever blest….” I
heard him humming softly as I fell asleep on his lap. At the funeral, as Uncle
sang he had broken down in the middle of the song.
A few people stood up
and talked about how good Papa was. They said Papa was a humble and loving man.
By the time we reach the cemetery where Papa was to be buried, the sun was
setting. Some men had dug up a deep pit. They tied the coffin with ropes and
carefully laid it down in the deep pit. Slowly they put the soil back with
their shovels. Mama had turned her back but I kept on staring at the coffin as
the men slowly dump the brown soil on the coffin. I looked at it without
blinking my eyes until it was no longer visible. Papa was now six feet under in
the beautifully draped coffin with his favourite books and clothes. As we
walked away from the cemetery, some of them were singing another hymn, “When we
all get to Heaven”. Still I did not cry…….
But this morning I want to cry my heart out.
Papa is gone. If he were here, he would take me in his lap, caress my hair and
let my tears soak his shirt. But Papa is gone.
Say
something Mama. Talk, Ayo. But no one says a word.
In moments like
this, all I want to do is cry and not say a word. But this morning a silent cry
is not the solution.
“Mama, I know Papa is not coming back. I know what death is.
It’s when people go away and never come back. I don’t know why he died. And I
miss him. I know he is not coming back. And I know he won’t be there to wake me
up in the morning. He won’t be there to read me the newspaper. “ In between my
tears I try to manage the words I wanted to say.
Mama finally
holds me in her arms, “Yes, Papa is gone, Papa is gone”…..I can feel her wet
tears in my shirt.
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