He sat stricken. On the floor. With her head in his lap. The woman he loved most in the world ,lay lifeless in his lap, his whole world lay in tatters around him. He had to go call someone, but inside him he knew it was no use. He wanted those precious last moments with her, before the hordes descended.
She was dressed in tennis whites, her brief skirt revealing her shapely legs. Many a young man sighed and lay in wait for her darshan, as she sailed past, racket swinging from her hands, in the crowded gullies. No less than a prince would woo her, and carry her off to the land of her dreams.
He was so goodlooking, he took her breath away, this suitor. When he sat holding her hand in his and promising her the world, she knew he was the one for her. He was the ultimate. The ultimate Lothario, or so she was to discover after marriage. He believed in total control, and when she resisted him, he hit her into submission. Two children in two years of marriage, couldn't induce her to stay, and so she left, returning to doting, parents, who detested him for ruining her life.
The rest of her life she spent discovering her independance. Teaching became her vocation. Her kids became her world. The years flew, having lost her parents, she now lived with her son, a young man so handsome, most of the girls in college, swooned over him. Her daughter, a shy introvert, married her cousin and moved away. Fate was not done with her however, her daughter expecting her first child, contracted jaundice. She died, taking her child with her, leaving her heart broken, grieving mother behind. Now she lived only for her son.
The only feeling he had for his father was one of rage and disgust. Never forgiving him for what he had done to his mother, he refused to marry himself. Now thirty, and working with a vengeance, the only happiness in his life was his work.
The room was dimly lit, The cake crumbs, waiting to be dusted off. It was her fiftieth birthday. He had arranged a surprise birthday party for her, but the best surprise had been when he had walked in, having flown many miles across the Pacific to be with her. They sat talking late into the night. She told him how proud she was of him, what a perfect son he had been. In the end, she told him, it had all been worth it. He was all she had ever wanted. He was her hero. Allah had taken a lot from her, but in return had given her a son like him.
The attack struck at midnight. Hearing a faint thud from her room, he awoke and burst into her room. She lay on the floor, where she had collapsed, even in death her hand stretched out to her son. Hewas there for her, until the end.
Who knew from his countenance, the devastation within him, as fiulilling the duty of a son, he buried her. Spent, havoc still raging within him he returned home, as empty as he felt inside. The door bell rang. His buddy, strode in carrying his back pack. "Im here," he said. "Until you throw me out."
She was dressed in tennis whites, her brief skirt revealing her shapely legs. Many a young man sighed and lay in wait for her darshan, as she sailed past, racket swinging from her hands, in the crowded gullies. No less than a prince would woo her, and carry her off to the land of her dreams.
He was so goodlooking, he took her breath away, this suitor. When he sat holding her hand in his and promising her the world, she knew he was the one for her. He was the ultimate. The ultimate Lothario, or so she was to discover after marriage. He believed in total control, and when she resisted him, he hit her into submission. Two children in two years of marriage, couldn't induce her to stay, and so she left, returning to doting, parents, who detested him for ruining her life.
The rest of her life she spent discovering her independance. Teaching became her vocation. Her kids became her world. The years flew, having lost her parents, she now lived with her son, a young man so handsome, most of the girls in college, swooned over him. Her daughter, a shy introvert, married her cousin and moved away. Fate was not done with her however, her daughter expecting her first child, contracted jaundice. She died, taking her child with her, leaving her heart broken, grieving mother behind. Now she lived only for her son.
The only feeling he had for his father was one of rage and disgust. Never forgiving him for what he had done to his mother, he refused to marry himself. Now thirty, and working with a vengeance, the only happiness in his life was his work.
The room was dimly lit, The cake crumbs, waiting to be dusted off. It was her fiftieth birthday. He had arranged a surprise birthday party for her, but the best surprise had been when he had walked in, having flown many miles across the Pacific to be with her. They sat talking late into the night. She told him how proud she was of him, what a perfect son he had been. In the end, she told him, it had all been worth it. He was all she had ever wanted. He was her hero. Allah had taken a lot from her, but in return had given her a son like him.
The attack struck at midnight. Hearing a faint thud from her room, he awoke and burst into her room. She lay on the floor, where she had collapsed, even in death her hand stretched out to her son. Hewas there for her, until the end.
Who knew from his countenance, the devastation within him, as fiulilling the duty of a son, he buried her. Spent, havoc still raging within him he returned home, as empty as he felt inside. The door bell rang. His buddy, strode in carrying his back pack. "Im here," he said. "Until you throw me out."
real sad what happened..life so unpredictable..
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