My year was up, working in India wasn’t real work, Mum said. Never mind the heart breaking Journey to the railway station in Salur. Where I was to choose three children amongst the crowd that huddled together, with their kohl blackened eyes and swollen bellies that silently pleaded. Three bodies burned on the pyre as HIV and Tuberculosis claimed them, leaving three beds free.
The Government bod I was with, covered his nose and mouth from the stench as we ploughed our way through the filth. You can’t choose, it would catch your heart and rip it out, yet I searched the faces and touched three children of varying ages, then we left for the home.
I knew many would die there beside that track; by the time we had bathed and soothed the lucky three they’d be gone.
A stone marked the spot where a piece of me died in Salur, but it wasn’t
proper work said Mum.
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Ellenbest24 
Shoot, sobering and says it all; Not real work, bury it out of mind so doesn’t exist. Rome burns in the background in a new landscape with a different name. The dust thrown on a grave; nice life, never mind, lets go to the pub and tomorrow its past and gone.
You hit the nail there Ellen; class writing and you did good x
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I appreciate the read and will bask in the glory of a greatly recieved oppinion of my writing. Thank you.
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You said it yourself in another comment, if your writing is received as a powerful message or interpretation then it’s well on the right track. Bask away and if that negative spirit enters return here and say readers say NO 😊
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Haha! Okay i done good.
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This gave me shivers and it’s been a while since that happened to me. Don’t listen to your mom. Your work is like that of Mother Teresa.
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When people feel, really feel my words, then my writing has done what I hoped . Nice of you to return and participate, it means a lot Susie. 😇
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Sad and true in many places, here included and as much as you would love to you can’t help all of the people all of the time 🙂 A thought provoking piece of writing 😦
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I am glad you felt it it is always good to know when you writing hits home. 😇
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Oh how heart wrenching…
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Thank you i love it when my words make an impact.
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They sure did!
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Sometimes few words are needed to convey a powerful experience. Your’s made me tear up. Often I think I can’t do anything because I can’t do everything for people in need. Thank you for showing me that there are those who try, and I can, too. Even if the cost is difficult to pay.
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A kind word goes far too. X
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not proper work? Maybe not conventional work, but very necessary work. That kind of work takes special people, you obviously are one!
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Thank you for your comment, please have a look around any time. 😇
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my pleasure, thanks for visiting me too
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I would quit right there. To choose–how do you do that? Your mum was right–it isn’t proper work, but not for her reasons.
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Jacqui how sweet of you. The task is a very real one and has to be undertaken frequently. But this is a story based on that fact but not mine or my Mother. I am glad you felt the emotion in my writing. Please come back soon. 😇
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Reblogged this on Jane Dougherty Writes and commented:
Docu-fiction or reality. Either way this is a gut-wrenching piece of writing.
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Your reblog is most welcome, thank you.
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My pleasure. It’s been passed along you’ll be pleased to hear.
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Brilliant! Thanks again 😇
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I don’t know if it’s fact or fiction. Makes no difference. The pain is the same. Great piece of writing.
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Thank you.
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Reblogged this on Kate McClelland and commented:
Gutwrenching
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Thank you for reblogging l am happy you came,
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Broke my heart. Well done.
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Good, I need to nail humour next… but I wouldn’t hold your breath too long.
*laughs*
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Oh, this is wrenching. There is no better work than that which never can fill the need. Bless you.
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Thank you I am pleased it came across strong.
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