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.
"He'll be here for the next one," he sighed and dropped to the ground too, "That's the good thing about birthdays. There's always more to look forward to, unless you die before the next of course."
We must have grown pretty close, Since you’ve given me access to the refrigerator.
Ma comes home with a tiny little piece of haluwa wrapped in taut plastic—the kind you get at hospitals. She holds it up in the air, her fingers a jeweller’s vice, and says, “See the haluwa?”
As they were running through the debris, Maria could see the boy tripping over and getting trampled on, but there was no time to go over and save him.
