Page 21 - Scene Magazine 41-12 December 2016
P. 21

blue eyes brightly waiting for her brother to finally come back home. It broke his heart to see her cracked lips and sunken cheeks in a face that was as fresh as the falling snow. He could never just sit in the wooden armchair by the fireplace, staring into the flames, while his kids slowly but certain were forced to fend for themselves – this at least is what his mother did.
The boy could still remember his father’s death clearly - he had been sitting in the very same scarlet car that was driving far too fast on the highway, in the seat next to the driver, as it had slipped on the iced pavement, hit the tree and was wrapped around its trunk. His sister, an infant at this time, and his mother had been safe at home but the boy had had to witness how the life was drawn out of his father’s body, how he had fought against the pain. He didn’t die immediately, he wasn’t even unconscious, so he drew his last heavy breath looking into his son’s eyes that were as black as his own. The boy had begged him to stay with him but then, eventually, his father had given up and let go.
This was the day of Christmas eve five years ago, when his only desire for Christ- mas was his father to come back home. The Christmas when he realized, that he would never come back home.The Christ- mas when the playful young boy with the golden hair and black eyes eventually ceased from believing. His mother, how- ever, has never recovered from this painful loss and the boy hated her for her weakness when she sat by, blank and unreachable, blinding out his begging and pleading, blocking out his sister crying. She was a wreck, captured in her own world of self- pity and mourning, confined to her bed or more often to the chair by the fire.
The girl opened the door before her brother had even reached the front porch. She was short for her six years, wispy and

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