Trying out my own writing prompt for my Writing Workshop Hop: experimenting with the close first person point of view.
I wrote this a long time ago, am submitting it again for Sandra’s Writing Workshop
Funny, I seem to remember the plastic chairs as red! Oh no, they were red when my daughter was born. I remember her, squalling angry red faced horror. I hated her on sight. Yeah ….. she grew up into a demanding shrew, married that gay kind of person. Hate him too! What she needed was a rogue to keep her in line! Humph!
Yes, they have all come. Elder son with his butch looking wife, younger son with his empty headed timid wife. Elder son …. pompous and never amounting to much. Yeah, Himself had great hopes from him. I could have told him this one thinks too much of himself. Look at him now ……. hen pecked and bullied by his daughters! Will never do any great stuff. Younger son ……we loved him so much, but he was only good at sweet talking the ladies. Now sells used cars. Is it a profession? It is cheating! And his wife, hahahahaha, jumps if any one so much as looks at her. But younger son married her … for her father’s money. I know – he thinks I am too stupid to realize it.
I can sense the embarrassment! They hover around me, exchange glances …. wonder if they should be talking to me, wonder if they are getting it right … wonder if I can hear them
I can sense the embarassment! They wish they could cry or express grief, they whisper, shuffle, look out of the window
Ahhh I am experienced. Have watched older ones leave. Birth is brutal, painful and exciting …. a new person coming into this world. Death ….. death is boring. Smartest to be gone in the night in sleep. Spare every one the wait.
Simply hand over the baton to the next generation. My children, they clung to me when they were younger. My smile brought them joy, frowns despair. Now they sit on plastic chairs and glance furtively at their watches. They wish I get on with it. Oh I have lived too long. They won’t cry! They’ll get out tattered albums one day ……… does any one have albums any more? They’ll laugh and comment “Oh look at me! I had such a silly hair cut those days!” No one will miss me ..
They’ll grieve – a bit. I understand. Been there done that! We share the same genetics ……
There will be full attendance at the cremation ….. nahin toh log kya kahenge, (what will people say) they will be properly attired in white kurtas and pajamas. There will be a chautha, a terhvan, rituals for the dead.
Then they’ll get my things out, throw my clothes into cartons for the poor people. They’ll wonder about the amount of books I managed to collect. They’ll fight over the jewelery, their spouses trying to control them, trying to cool them down, getting them to make up. But these three …….. hehehehe, aging balding 6 year olds in a sibling fight.
Been there done that! I understand ….. the same genetics.
Spoils will be divided, a last meal had together while they plan the latest car, the new furniture out of the proceeds! Death leaves us richer – materially
I wont make a scene. Just go out for a cup of tea. Dont hover over me. I’ll do it. I do care for you my dears
I’ll cross over without any fuss
I’ll … just ….. do …. what I ….. have …. to