SingPoWriMo 2016 Day #5
In the pages of a tabloid today was a story of a young widow who wanted to take her life, and how her mother turned her around. Heart-warming, yeah. And sort of inspired this piece. Longish. Surprised me too.
what have i got myself into?
thin red line
The line between sanity and madness, life and death, can be razor sharp, or a thin red line, and that is why, tied between her wrist and that of her young child, is a thin red thread. Standing at the rooftop of her apartment block, with the rapidly sinking sun, the dark clouds do look so much closer. As the wind slips around her hair, her legs, she takes a step forward towards the edge, the blackbirds watching, scorning. The ground below is a dark abyss and the lights of the city are just mocking eyes. And then a soft voice, so close, so helpless.
mommy, i am cold.
And all the fears and hatred and pity fly off into the night, as she holds her child, feeling her warmth and she cries it all out and the child puts her hands on the mother's cheeks, and she cries some more, and more.
She tears off the red thread binding them, then, like a lotus growing out of mud, holding her child's hand, she walks back down the stairs, back to their home, as the stars start to twinkle in the sky above.
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ), 2016