Just another She

An orange spark shot itself through the wave of gray clouds, and then melted into the blue. Occasionally after pauses, the wind brushed over the world, creating a symphony. The wooden windows with their half shutters waiting to be shut, it was evening and this was the custom.It had risen though from a supposed scientific reason- darkness brings in strange, common insects that ruin man’s sleep. Science or belief, she never understood it. She wanted to see the sky turn black. She always intended to observe, to notice the trick but it did it quietly, put on the cloak so quickly that no one even noticed. But these things always interested her. Forever. Earlier when she was just another child and now that she is just another woman.
As a child living among the cruel concrete she always felt the urge to slip into a different world, a different place. The vast stretches of sun soaked grass, the dew sodden fields, the crimson hue that appeared twice everyday but seeming new each time- beckoned her in a familiar voice. She heard the voice then, she hears it now. It called her earlier when she was just another child and it calls her now that she is just another woman.
A number of questions grew in her heart when she once had faced violence as a little girl. The hatred that had spread like an epidemic and continued to be more ruthless and arrogant tortured some part of her. She had cried then, she cries now although no one tried to understand. She wailed in her helplessness, she feels the pain even today. It hurt her earlier when she was just another child. It hurts now that she is just another woman.
When Joy knocked on her door, she greeted him, welcoming him with open arms. As she saw the sun soaked grass, the dew sodden fields and crimson skies she felt grateful but never greedy. She embraced without grasping, she accepted without clasping. As a child the short visits of happiness made her smile and even today she merely treats him as her fair-weather friend. She accepted his transience when she was just another child; she respects it now that she is just another woman.
The fevers haunted her childish life. The pain pricked her, stung her and engulfed her in their power. But she remained mute, not unfeeling but merely unbending. A complaint or regret never slipped from her heart or her lips. With the years the pain also grew and the more she felt, the less she said. She only smiled, she smiled then as a child, she smiled as a grown-up and she still smiles as she is laid to rest. She was never just another child. She was never just another woman.