Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Just a prose from a friend *smile*

*firstable, i'd like to credit Vanni for this wonderful post*

A Perfect Morning
by Vanni ( A Senior Woodlander )


The morning was too warm, too perfect in it's ultimate serenity as the dancing bits of colourful butterfly wings frolicked amongst the palest blue sky I had ever been privy to so early in the day.

Slowly, I sipped the strong cocoa brew from the worn red plastic mug I hugged in my palms. My heart thrilled as I peered intently at the ethereal theatre of nature abuzz, being acted out before me through the twelve perfect squares of dusty window pane that rested just above the reach of my mother's ambitious flowering garden.

In restrospect, that would have been the most appropriate time to pray- right then when I was totally encapsulated in the refreshing spirit that Life itself presented to me that morning. And if I had been two moments closer to reflection and introspection and perhaps a predilection to praise, I would have been whispering my offerings of thanksgiving to the Most High God.

But instead, my mind was soaking somewhere in the web of tranquility and profuse beauty that was before my eyes. And so, I never noticed that maybe that morning was just a mite too ideal until the clue was unfortunately much too late to decipher.

All it took was one scream. Truly, one heart-piercing, desperate scream was all that was necessarily to send the proverbial dark clouds rolling in on the peace that had, by now, tanned me all over. hurriedly, I lunged out of my chair in a flurried scramble to seek the source of the screaming situation.

By the time I had managed to cross the three feet to the curtained threshold of my squeaky bedroom door, the screams- bounding forth now in an agonized cluster- were being accompanied by an unmelodious chorus of eerie wails and incessant bawling. The bridge of hateful curses being hurled like the lashes of the heavy leather strap I imagined she was using, from the filthy mouth of my neighbour Anisa, was not far behind.

Strangely enough, my brain and I honestly could not decide whose voice was the loudest emitter- hers in all her worldly evil and malice, or that of the frail six year old boy whom was currently begging for mercy from his latest indiscretion. Both were raging with emotion, seeking first place in a who's-louder-than-who contest, that would eventually end in sore throats and shots of Histal straight from the bottle.

I envisioned his little honey-brown face at that moment, contorted as if possessed by demons much like his body must have been curled into the only defensive position he knew- knees tucked tightly to chest, head lowered, tiny hands raised in hope of touching heaven or perhaps the hem of sympathy's garment. And that was the last straw in the hay-basket for me.

I had certainly had enough of the boy's regular beatings- though abuse is truly a much more appropriate word- for misspelling a word, (much as I almost did), or for not knowing as much as she proclaimed he should, or for simply being the outsider in a family that through blood was not his own.

Seriously, is he not human too? Did he not matter because he was adopted by a plump, dark witch with a nose as shiny as dear Rudolph's, who is yet to understand the concept of nurturing and affection. Is he to blame because his skin is shades lighter and his teeth more wee and crooked than the two harboured minions and the thoroughly untrained grandchild that she claims as her own diseased flesh? How could anyone not see the glow of a child as it shakes and trembles before him?

Well, that was it for me. The fever of indignation was arched and prepared to escape from within me with a single leap, as my chest was rapped painfully with every pound of my heart against it's fragile barrier. I knew within myself that I had to do something. And so in one swift move, I wrestled the phone from it's charging stand resting serenely on the table, butting my poor elbow in the process.

Still, not to be deterred by the now twanging pain riding the length of the lower region of my right hand, I began to dial with my left. However, somewhere between the first and the second digit, I finally tuned in to my mother's disapproving presence rigidly seated on the nearby sofa bedecked with white lace throw cushions and cream doilies that always managed to appear askew.

I could tell that she too was riled up about our dear neighbour's total disdain for the delicacy of young life, but it took me another two digits to realize that her disapproving frown too was centered on me.

"Put that phone down." The timbre that rolls on the waver of her voice when she's angry always sends chills down my spine, and that time was no exception- not that I would ever mention this to her. Still, immediately, in place of the expected compliance, a ripping burst of defiance took over me and I kept dialing.

Numero cinco, numero seis. One more to go...

And that was the moment she stripped that phone out of my hand like paper off a Christmas gift without giving me a moment's reaction time.

"Are you out of your mind, Mummy? We can't just sit here and listen to this child go through this day in, day out! We have to do something! Can't you understand that?"

"Now, you understand me," she tersely replied. "We don't mingle in people's affairs no matter what's going on in their household. It's their business. Let them fix it. Don't get me wrong, I feel sorry for the boy and if I had my way I would be puching her lights out all the way to Calvary on the Mummy Express just to give the police enough time to turn up and collect her sorry carcass. But we don't get in the disaster of other people's lives. That's the way it's always been and that's how it's gonna stay."

And that's exactly what it wrong with this world. We are so afraid to change what poor foundations we have laid and to step up to build a more secure future. We are so terrified to help someone who is of no means to a greater end for our greedy selves that we forget what the true meaning of love is. We are defeated by the binds of the selfishness that dwells within our own souls and are too ensconced in our problems to find a remedy that could solve someone else's.

And so I obeyed. I sat down at that breakfast table with a steaming plate of fried eggs and bacon laid out lavishly before me, as I regained the warm comfort of that ragged red mug of cocoa in my palms. I thought it strange that it hadn't lost much heat in the ten minutes I had wallowed and depressed myself in the wails of one who was steeped in an eternity of disgrace.

Then I took a slow sip anyway, and closed my eyes to the mocking elegance of a perfect morning.

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