For The Longest Moment.

For the longest moment the world stopped, the air became thick and the branch creaked. I watched the legs twitch as urine ran freely from the bottom of his trousers, there was a splash from the shoe that flipped and bounced off the lawn.

Not a sound could be heard inside our home, until the tick and click of the boiler the quiet roar that still makes me flinch today. I didn’t play with dolls after that, sudden noises made me jump, made Mummy cry and our house sad. That one thing dirtied our garden and spoiled our beautiful tree. My childhood was no more, that single day changed our world, and stole my Dad.

This is a hard subject to cover and I did not undertake it lightly. It is a fictional story and any likeness to any actuality is coincidental. Thanks to the daily prompt for leaving the word “Tree. press tree to read many more great stories. I first wrote this for a literary competition one that asked you to write the uncomfortable, this was short listed and I think worth another look.

Have you tackled a difficult piece of fiction? do you tread where your heart would never wish to go? Was this believable? Please leave a comment I will respond at speed, thank you and remember it is a story. 😇💘💕

Working In India Wasn’t Proper Work.

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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