The Glass Window

The terrace. And some Coke.
The wind, and a teenager.
Oh, yeah. Study. Yes, of course. Study. Study what? Nothing. Study anything. Must. Study. Must. Study.

A glass window with fungus covered edges.

On the window sill, A feathered family. Them things. They have beady little eyes.
The feathered family. The little ones weep. They cling to the mother. Was it a kite? Or was it a notorious kid? Hurt, is what she is. And soon, her beady little eyes close.
The little ones seem devastated. They snuggle up next to her and caress her with their tiny beaks. The Father is trying to be strong. And failing. They circle her. And mourn.

Beyond the glass window.
A white room. An old man lying on the bed. Relatives surrounding him as he says his last words. Lived his life? Maybe. Maybe not. The little ones don’t know what’s going on. They just look around, and try to pass their time. Their faces say – Must. Avoid. Adults. In the corner, two women. A smirk. Suppressed laughter. Focus. Time for some lip-reading. ‘Thank God!’, one of them says. ‘Oh, he was a burden. He lived his life.’

__

‘Where were you?’
‘Terrace.’
‘What for? I asked you to study.’
‘I did.’

Mother. A baffled face. A shrug and a few indecipherable words.
Daughter.
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