In Memoriam..

        She sat on the edge of the brown slipping rocks that smelt of weed and salt. Her feet dangling in the foam of the blue green water,cold after the November rain. She clung to the red old muslin shawl that still seemed to smell like her grandmother.

  The sun was just beginning to come down, filling the skies with a warm orange gaze. She sat there, alone, lost in the winsome flight of the seagulls; tantalized at the vision of the new shores they were to behold. She bent down to play with the splurging water but winced at the first touch of its icy coldness. She withdrew, folding her hands again in the comfort of the red muslin. So, she was here again.

  Again, to smell the sea. Again, to see the waves crash at the foot of the rocks. She was here again to drink in the memories, she had spent her days, making at the side of the shore. Memories, to die in. Memories to kill for.

   But suddenly it hit her, came upon  her like a loud cold wave and she was drenched, head to toe. She remembered why she was here, it was an Escape. An escape from the reality, she had to face in every room, at the front door of her apartment, in the corner of the fresh green lawn and on the wide expanse of the roof.
She had run away, from them, their mourning voices and the stench of the monotony that refused to let from its clutches, the demons of grief.

   Yes, she had run away from Her. Her? Was she gone? So easily and suddenly. Gone away like a sudden whiff of air. And yes, she had seen them bring her in. Seen her lie there,on the ground amidst, a lot of people  who did their best to howl the loudest. And she had not believed it then. She could not believe it now.

 Zehra was sure, she would get up then, from one of her afternoon slumbers and call out her name. She sat near her feet watching her, patiently waiting for her to open her eyes and smile at her. To tell her that it was all  alright and she was alright and that she could still take in the air and throw it outside.

   She waited, ignoring her mother's efforts to make her believe that she wasn't going to get up. Not Now. Not Ever. That she was now a thing of the Past. A Past they could not recover. A Past they must burn away in a ridiculous bed of sandalwood.