The place had no soul or spirit left, and it was evident in the colourless walls, the unclean glasses, the empty eyes of the server who left me a menu card.
I’d never felt sadder at the prospect of not being a part of someone else’s story.
The infallible whiteness of the walls, the omnipresent smell of disinfectants, and the fields of artificial grass come back to me. Swimming before me are visions of smiling children and the legions of overworked childcare professionals constantly at their service. Every blink threatens to permanently relocate me to their world of ceaseless laughter.
It’s God’s funny way of reminding me that all that is received is a gift that is broken.
“You’re 20 minutes late, there’s no way I’m letting you in,” Dr Faisal said in a cold voice with a smirk on the corner of his face. His smirk is one coated with joy and glory.
“I wonder what she’ll wear tomorrow,” he mumbled as his eyes drooped shut.
The Plainsburn Residence had sat at the edge of a huge forest for generations, acting as its steward and protector.
“Extra ghugni, no chilis,” he confirmed, his cyber-enhanced eyes ever judging.
Possibilities that are small enough to be held in the clammy palms of a toddler.
