The chill of the marble floor travelled from the soles of her feet all the way up her spine as she walked across the large room to close the window. It was raining again and she felt the cold raindrops spray on her face as tiny droplets appeared on her glasses that were so large for her face that they seemed to be balancing precariously on her smallish snout-like nose. She wiped her glasses with the corner of her wrist-long sleeve and giggled as if the rains were teasing her. If the rain was a girl, she thought to herself, she could finally have a best friend. If only. She softly hummed a tune to herself, spinning around in circles, imagining herself as someone else, in some other world, at some other time. The sound of the rains through the closed window sounded like white noise to her ears, only not as empty. She wondered why people equated the rains with sorrows and the blues, why are difficult times called rainy days? She decided that the rains were beautiful and the sound of the raindrops would never cease to fill her heart with joy. As far as she was concerned, she knew that as long as there is rain, good things are coming.
She sat on her father’s couch, tucking her tiny white feet under her to keep them dry and warm. It was almost a year since it happened, but she could still smell the smoky residue of his presence on his couch and if she sat on it long enough she could almost make herself believe that he will come into the room any time now and demand in his monotonous voice that she get off his couch at once. But he didn’t come. So she could sit there as long as it pleased her.
She rested her head on the arm-rest and through the glass-paned window she saw at a great distance, some birds perched on the overhead wires that lined the city like the arms of a protective mother. They were sitting still yet she imagined them to be shivering ever so slightly against the onslaught of the cold piercing rain. They were so far away that their bodies took the form of commas against the great blue sky, demanding our otherwise scattered attention and reminding us to pause every now and then much like their grammatical counterparts.
It was almost a year. It didn’t feel that long though maybe because in the beginning she did not believe that it was true. It couldn’t be. It had all happened so fast that it took a long time to sink in. She rose from the couch and stood at the doorway, staring intently down the corridor and saw dozens of flies resting on the pale white floor of the corridor. She tiptoed to the beginning of the corridor causing a few of the flies to disperse and stayed still a few moments eyes fixed on them. The dispersed flies found their spots and settled down again, black specks against the gleaming floor.
She ran across the corridor as fast as her tiny legs allowed and grappled with her small hands to catch at least one of those tiny rascals. This was her favourite part of this season. Chasing flies.
He never let her do this. Run across the corridor. Foolishness he called it. She remembered standing in the corner of the same doorway, head bent down, shoulders stooping as he explained to her in exact details just how stupid she was and how he was ashamed to call her his daughter. She believed every word he said.