My Childhood Room

The chair was on the verge of being shattered all completely for it was made of bamboo. My grandfather had gifted a pair of them to my mother when she was given away in marriage to my father. That was a gift from a loving father to his youngest daughter, and never a dowry, for he was sensible enough to figure out the anticipations of the other side. One of them had already been beaten to pieces by father; I conjectured it was time for the other to meet a similar fate. The colored pieces of broken glasses laid on the carpet that had the hues of emerald green. Its tapestry was nearly torn apart by the sharp edges that shone bright as the light of the only lamp in the room fell on them, and it inevitably needed to be darned, so as I could tell. Glasses - pink, red, and green. It was ironical how they composed confetti for me when they evinced the resentment that the house encompassed then. It was nothing new, merely a reiteration of what had grasped a higher slope on the line of all the same catastrophe that I was no longer a stranger to.

Beside the red flower vase stood tall my twin brother, watching all of what I was a witness to as well. Honestly speaking, I could tell from even that ten feet long distance that he was giving the scene all he could too because, somewhere inside, he was jaded just like me....