The phone rang loudly, rudely waking from her disturbed slumber. The timepiece besides her bed let her know that it was 1:00. A glance outside her window confirmed that the night was still young. She pulled the sheets closer to counter the chill blast of wind that hit her through the open window. She reminded herself to fix the broken window pane. Her inconsistent and miserly pay did not help ameliorate the situation. The incessant rings of the phone jerked her back to consciousness jarring her already frazzled nerves. Would she be able to handle it this time around?
She hated this job. She promised herself that she would try to regain the receptionist’s job that she had left. Painful memories of her being taken advantage trying to hit on her rushed back, making her nauseous. Prospects of a better experience this time around quenched her resistance and she picked up the phone. It was from the Smiths who lived 2 streets away. It was not difficult to miss their huge mansion as you walked to the market. Not that she made frequent trips to the market. She got dressed and was on her way. She had to be careful to alter her appearance at each outing so that people would not recognize her. She grimaced at the irony of the situation.
The cold wind seemed to complete the overall picture of cheerlessness. She evaded a drunken man who lay in the garbage dump. He swore at her and passed lewd comments. She had grown used to it. What could a lonely widow do? A pall of gloom descended on her as she neared the Smith’s residence. She remembered playing with their grubby child, Timmy. Their nanny was one of her few friends. She fervently wished and hoped it would not be Timmy. The loud wailing that she heard at the Smith’s did not disturb her. She wondered to herself whether she had gone so cold so as to block off any emotion. She walked in and kneeled next to the cadaver. It was Timmy. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She sobbed uncontrollably as she had learnt to. Just this time, real tears were concomitants to the artificial ones. Why was it that god had to snatch away the persons that she knew?
Her friend and colleague had to remind her to control herself and not to make it all overdramatic. Subtlety was indispensable in her profession too. After everyone had left, she and her colleague went up to Mrs. Smith and collected their dues. Now she could have the window pane fixed.
She trudged back home, wiped the glycerin off her face, mixed herself a drink and waited for the next call. A Mourner has irregular job hours......
She hated this job. She promised herself that she would try to regain the receptionist’s job that she had left. Painful memories of her being taken advantage trying to hit on her rushed back, making her nauseous. Prospects of a better experience this time around quenched her resistance and she picked up the phone. It was from the Smiths who lived 2 streets away. It was not difficult to miss their huge mansion as you walked to the market. Not that she made frequent trips to the market. She got dressed and was on her way. She had to be careful to alter her appearance at each outing so that people would not recognize her. She grimaced at the irony of the situation.
The cold wind seemed to complete the overall picture of cheerlessness. She evaded a drunken man who lay in the garbage dump. He swore at her and passed lewd comments. She had grown used to it. What could a lonely widow do? A pall of gloom descended on her as she neared the Smith’s residence. She remembered playing with their grubby child, Timmy. Their nanny was one of her few friends. She fervently wished and hoped it would not be Timmy. The loud wailing that she heard at the Smith’s did not disturb her. She wondered to herself whether she had gone so cold so as to block off any emotion. She walked in and kneeled next to the cadaver. It was Timmy. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She sobbed uncontrollably as she had learnt to. Just this time, real tears were concomitants to the artificial ones. Why was it that god had to snatch away the persons that she knew?
Her friend and colleague had to remind her to control herself and not to make it all overdramatic. Subtlety was indispensable in her profession too. After everyone had left, she and her colleague went up to Mrs. Smith and collected their dues. Now she could have the window pane fixed.
She trudged back home, wiped the glycerin off her face, mixed herself a drink and waited for the next call. A Mourner has irregular job hours......
4 comments:
awesome...
Very intriguing till the last word!!!Funny too :)
hmmm..nice pathos man ....liked the way it started actually ...
nice theme man ....guess short stories have their weird flow pattern n the metering of this one was just apt...
great work!!!!
An extremely good write....you have a good gift...you must use it more often.
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