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Trauma
#WritcoStoryChallenge
The old house stood dilapidated and full of memories. It's been 12 years since I stood on this marble floor, once all white and shiny and now covered with dust. How horrified my mom would have been had she seen her house in this state. The house which would be extraordinarily fine and yet she would fuss over it all day long. But then dad used to say it was in her nature. Whether he meant fussing or keeping things in order, I never found out.
It took me quite a deal of paperwork to get the ownership back of it. For sure money was invested as well. But after many years, I didn't feel like caring for the money spent. After all, this old house was once more than just a house to me. It was my home. The home where I used to come running after a long day at school with a growling tummy. The home where I was sure I would receive a warm meal served by my mother with a warm smile. Who would right after start fussing over my uniform. But the mahogany table was not here anymore. Maybe someone took it away after things came back to normal. People would have been in need of money. Where else would they look for except the deserted houses. This could explain all the missing things that were left behind in haste.
But no one would have cared to pick up the pieces of the broken vase. The vase which was bought from France. My father was way too fond of it. Forget the guests he didn't let the postman leave until he had learned all about the French vase and it's legacy. But while we were packing things away the same manly fingers which used to caress the vase with a womanly affection, accidentally knocked the vase down without even caring to look back at it once. I bent down and picked up the largest piece in my hand. It was first time that I had touched it, for there was no father to shout on me 'to keep my dirty hands off since it was just polished'. In the smoothness of the vase, I tried to trace the warmth of my father's fingers. Maybe I was numb as it took me a while to realize that the drop on the vase piece had fallen from my eye. I pocketed the piece. And with a heavy heart but a resolute mind walked forward towards the other parts of the house.
The door of my parents room too was missing and so in a clear view stood my parents room there in the corner was my single bed. I entered the room. I closed my eyes and somehow voices started playing in my head...
"I'm getting too old to be sleeping with you people... I want to sleep alone!!"
"We don't have another room my dear"
"But I WANT MY OWN ROOM!!!"
"Okay... Now that you're so determined you may sleep in the hall, we could probably arrange a single bed for you over there".
And the very next night at 11 p.m....
"Aaaaaarghhhhh"
"What happened"
"What happened"
"Daaaad Ghost Ghosttt!!!! Right there.. Over the chair"
Mommy turned around and screamed as well. But dad braved enough to go across the room and turn on the light to show us how the monster looked exactly like his red sweater. And we all laughed a lot. So finally at midnight with some fussing done by mom and dad's 'be careful around my dear vase', the single bed was finally shifted to mom and dad's room. Even though in the same room, still I was sleeping on MY OWN BED... Something I prided a lot. The wallpaper had come out almost in all places excepting a few. I wondered if the people thought the bedroom furniture was not worth taking away.
I wanted to go to the other parts of the house as well but my courage failed me. I feared I'd lose myself if I moved any farther, for this house was not just a house. It was a bundle of emotions, memories and also trauma. A trauma that was inflicted by the political leaders. A trauma that took away several lives. A trauma that tore several families apart. A trauma that can never be forgotten.
I had bought this house as it felt the right thing to do. But I didn't know what to do with it. I couldn't put it on rent for there were sweet memories attached to it. But I couldn't reside here either, for there was also bitter trauma attached to it. Had my wise dad been here, I'm sure he would have found some way or the other. But neither mom nor dad could survive this war. And had it not been for my Uncle and Aunt I wouldn't have either.
But alas I was alive, standing here, to bear it all alone. The war had come to an end but it left us with a never ending trauma.
© A.K.
#writco #war #family #alone #broken #follow #story #peace #akwrites
The old house stood dilapidated and full of memories. It's been 12 years since I stood on this marble floor, once all white and shiny and now covered with dust. How horrified my mom would have been had she seen her house in this state. The house which would be extraordinarily fine and yet she would fuss over it all day long. But then dad used to say it was in her nature. Whether he meant fussing or keeping things in order, I never found out.
It took me quite a deal of paperwork to get the ownership back of it. For sure money was invested as well. But after many years, I didn't feel like caring for the money spent. After all, this old house was once more than just a house to me. It was my home. The home where I used to come running after a long day at school with a growling tummy. The home where I was sure I would receive a warm meal served by my mother with a warm smile. Who would right after start fussing over my uniform. But the mahogany table was not here anymore. Maybe someone took it away after things came back to normal. People would have been in need of money. Where else would they look for except the deserted houses. This could explain all the missing things that were left behind in haste.
But no one would have cared to pick up the pieces of the broken vase. The vase which was bought from France. My father was way too fond of it. Forget the guests he didn't let the postman leave until he had learned all about the French vase and it's legacy. But while we were packing things away the same manly fingers which used to caress the vase with a womanly affection, accidentally knocked the vase down without even caring to look back at it once. I bent down and picked up the largest piece in my hand. It was first time that I had touched it, for there was no father to shout on me 'to keep my dirty hands off since it was just polished'. In the smoothness of the vase, I tried to trace the warmth of my father's fingers. Maybe I was numb as it took me a while to realize that the drop on the vase piece had fallen from my eye. I pocketed the piece. And with a heavy heart but a resolute mind walked forward towards the other parts of the house.
The door of my parents room too was missing and so in a clear view stood my parents room there in the corner was my single bed. I entered the room. I closed my eyes and somehow voices started playing in my head...
"I'm getting too old to be sleeping with you people... I want to sleep alone!!"
"We don't have another room my dear"
"But I WANT MY OWN ROOM!!!"
"Okay... Now that you're so determined you may sleep in the hall, we could probably arrange a single bed for you over there".
And the very next night at 11 p.m....
"Aaaaaarghhhhh"
"What happened"
"What happened"
"Daaaad Ghost Ghosttt!!!! Right there.. Over the chair"
Mommy turned around and screamed as well. But dad braved enough to go across the room and turn on the light to show us how the monster looked exactly like his red sweater. And we all laughed a lot. So finally at midnight with some fussing done by mom and dad's 'be careful around my dear vase', the single bed was finally shifted to mom and dad's room. Even though in the same room, still I was sleeping on MY OWN BED... Something I prided a lot. The wallpaper had come out almost in all places excepting a few. I wondered if the people thought the bedroom furniture was not worth taking away.
I wanted to go to the other parts of the house as well but my courage failed me. I feared I'd lose myself if I moved any farther, for this house was not just a house. It was a bundle of emotions, memories and also trauma. A trauma that was inflicted by the political leaders. A trauma that took away several lives. A trauma that tore several families apart. A trauma that can never be forgotten.
I had bought this house as it felt the right thing to do. But I didn't know what to do with it. I couldn't put it on rent for there were sweet memories attached to it. But I couldn't reside here either, for there was also bitter trauma attached to it. Had my wise dad been here, I'm sure he would have found some way or the other. But neither mom nor dad could survive this war. And had it not been for my Uncle and Aunt I wouldn't have either.
But alas I was alive, standing here, to bear it all alone. The war had come to an end but it left us with a never ending trauma.
© A.K.
#writco #war #family #alone #broken #follow #story #peace #akwrites
