Untitled

   Expressionless,she knew how to remain stoic all too well.The child sat there staring at her feet or the shoes that her feet hid in rather.Her face blank,partially hidden by long,thick corkscrew twists.She observes everything that is around her except what lay in front of her for that to her was already expected. A scene that had wound and rewound itself in her mind but never got stretched or tired from overplay. It was an already seen, a deja' vu that subconsciously she had anticipated. 

   The sky was cloudless,bright and the air was dry.It made her nose sore.Her head was poised to the direction of the field.The poui trees were laden like bridesmaids with their purple,pink and yellow flowers letting them silently and gracefully fall to the ground.The child badly wanted to go over there and roll in the fallen blossoms but she felt the invisible reins of restraint.The eyes that ever so often glanced at her. 

   The pastor's words were lost in transmission. They came to her in waves like an A.M. radio with interference.All this was to her was a slide show. It came in flicks. In black and white she received pictures of the funeral and in colour flashes, the poui trees. At first the flashes were too slow and redundant but then they sped up and the pictures began to move into action from the present into the past. She closed her eyes and took the ride to where she came home from school that evening. Her mother lies there on the floor.She has something clenched so tightly in her hand that the child does not quite make it out.Her mother lies there in the foetal position,peacefully.

   The child is in a quandary. She wonders if she should wake her mother so that she can show her the picture she drew at school or watch television. She sits there on the couch and the doubts flood her mind.Never before in her short life has she ever seen her mother lie so peacefully in her sleep. The worry lines have almost disappeared.Her face is relaxed and it seems as though there is a faint smile present.She thought that her mother wasn't just asleep but  she was now able to dream for the first time.

   The child takes out the drawing and decides to fix it, to make it better for her mother.She takes the black crayon out.She isn't quite sure why she chose that colour but she continues anyway.But no matter how she tries the painting becomes ugly.She colours outside the lines.From tiny scratches to huge scribbles on the page.She keeps on going however with this wild, aimless determination until finally the crayon breaks.The picture melts and becomes obscured as the tears well up but she fights it .She decides that she will draw another one.

  "...Lord help this poor child's soul help her to overcome this great loss in her young life as you take care of her mother.We all know that you needed another angel to help you with your plan." Someone behinds her shouts,"Amen,praise be to the lord hallelujah."

   She thinks about if the chickens back home were hungry.She wondered why she had  on stockings and a green polyester dress that made her itch as she kept her head down and tugged at the dress.She wondered why she hated green on that dress but she loved the grass and the trees.Then she realized that she didn't have a favourite colour so she debated on that,whether she should choose blue or yellow.

  "...As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."She looked at the bridesmaids in the field.Her mother was the bride.Her heart shaped lips glistened in the sun.Her face pale like a mannequin.The groom is the one who is veiled for he seems to be a mystery. The hole in the ground would be her new home.She felt that her mother would like that; the constant smell of earth and sweet grass.

   The child sat in the car as they rode to some other place.She had questions.Was God going to be her father?Was God really that nice? Was he going to really take care of her mother? She finally resolved in her heart that God was a cruel man to take her mother away like that. They passed the church.There she saw Mary on the grotto with her hands opened out looking down and she wondered if she was going to be her new mother.  

   They stood in a house,one that seemed familiar to her.The grownups were like giants paying no heed to her.She sat in a corner with her head down on her lap. They talked.They chit- chattered as the food tumbled from their mouth and fell to the floor.Every now and then she heard little snippets of words.This talk was different from the others.She looked at the women's' faces.They gathered together as hens would ,clucking while they picked pebbles on the ground but their faces were like vultures eagerly picking on juicy refuse while they let the bits fell from their beaks and she was the worm undetected waiting for the crumbs of gossip to fall on her.

  The words were vicious.She heard words like 'AIDS' and 'overdose'.She didn't exactly know what they meant.She pondered on the word 'AIDS' and she tried to figure out in her innocence how someone could die from getting help.She craned her neck as the voices were raspy whispers that were once distinct but then they rose in volume into a confused din that rushed towards her in a roaring avalanche.She covered her ears as she fought hard to block the sounds but they penetrated and resonated in her head until the child was made to resolve in her heart that life was nothing more than a sick joke.