The Full Moon
THE FULL MOON
He could give up anything in the world to see a smile on her glum face again. She would dutifully come to meet him, every month. She would bring his favorite food, enquire about his well being, studies and keep staring blankly at the dusty calendar on the sour cream walls of the meeting room.
He had been there for the past nine months, in the juvenile home.
Convicted of murdering his own father.
His father! Drug addict and peddler, alcoholic, thief, begger, pimp, sadist......
The narrow alleys of their street would often reverberate with the cries of a hapless woman. Even the morning sun failed to penetrate the foggy skies to bring some cheer to the frail woman who tried to hide the scars on her body and soul, howsoever unsuccessfully, from her teenage son.
Another dark night, another wail rent the air, blinded with rage the boy grabbed a sickle and hit. His father collapsed. A puddle of blood slowly trickled out of the tenement.
The boy called the police with his father's cell phone.
Juvenile court sentenced him to one year in a correction home.
His mother's droopy mouth slumped even more. Uncertainty and apprehensions over her son's bleak future made her scarred face gloomier.
He urged her to resume work and be happy, she feigned a smile which did not reach her eyes.
After an agonizing 12 months he came home. She rejoiced briefly, then fell silent.
That night, as she lay awake on a shabby rag unable to blink an eye, she heard someone croon a lullaby.
She froze in her mediations. Then slowly turned to see her son sing the lullaby she used to sing to rock him to sleep.
From behind the lead skies, her s(u)n was born again!
The droopy mouth lifted, and then she smiled......radiant like the full moon outside.
He could give up anything in the world to see a smile on her glum face again. She would dutifully come to meet him, every month. She would bring his favorite food, enquire about his well being, studies and keep staring blankly at the dusty calendar on the sour cream walls of the meeting room.
He had been there for the past nine months, in the juvenile home.
Convicted of murdering his own father.
His father! Drug addict and peddler, alcoholic, thief, begger, pimp, sadist......
The narrow alleys of their street would often reverberate with the cries of a hapless woman. Even the morning sun failed to penetrate the foggy skies to bring some cheer to the frail woman who tried to hide the scars on her body and soul, howsoever unsuccessfully, from her teenage son.
Another dark night, another wail rent the air, blinded with rage the boy grabbed a sickle and hit. His father collapsed. A puddle of blood slowly trickled out of the tenement.
The boy called the police with his father's cell phone.
Juvenile court sentenced him to one year in a correction home.
His mother's droopy mouth slumped even more. Uncertainty and apprehensions over her son's bleak future made her scarred face gloomier.
He urged her to resume work and be happy, she feigned a smile which did not reach her eyes.
After an agonizing 12 months he came home. She rejoiced briefly, then fell silent.
That night, as she lay awake on a shabby rag unable to blink an eye, she heard someone croon a lullaby.
She froze in her mediations. Then slowly turned to see her son sing the lullaby she used to sing to rock him to sleep.
From behind the lead skies, her s(u)n was born again!
The droopy mouth lifted, and then she smiled......radiant like the full moon outside.
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