Well, for starter, i had chosen this short story of mine to be posted first. Maybe because it is my favourite and i wrote it with all my heart and soul, haha just kidding. it was somewhere in 2005, i think( i was just a kid, then), and i was sitting on my bed in my hostel, gazing at the huge trees very far away and listening to their murmurs. i really like those trees and i think they had cut them off, what a pity. They rained golden flowers every April and those cruel administrators, they just don't value stuff like that. Anyway, it was at that time i started to dream of a very weird story and started writing.
So, probably some people might have read this somewhere for i had really posted it at two different websites. Really, i'm not copy-pasting it, we are just the same person...hehe. So, enjoy and do leave a comment ^_^
To The Grimm Reaper - A Letter
Dear Mr. Grim Reaper,
I do not really know how I am supposed to tell you, yet I know well that you might patiently read this letter as you silently wait for some more errands in your office. For your information sir, I am deeply gratified for your highest concern and I thank you. The main purpose in writing this letter is to inform you regarding the event that is taking place almost daily at my home. I know I am just a little lady who is insignificant enough to bother you in your work, and I know I am not the one to complain. However, it happens to me almost everyday and I, myself cannot explain what is simply happening. You might name it as ‘post-shifting condition’ that you has always said when a family member died. I do not deny that it helps me to forget certain things and be ready to face life and move on. It almost lifts me into my typical daily life for many times now. Actually, it just confused me, that’s all and by writing this I am hoping that you could provide me some explanation and clarify what is going on.
That day Edward came to my apartment, like always. He nagged like a woman, scolding and asking me angrily why my house was dark and why I did not keep my house clean. He even reminded me of the things that passed and I just sat quietly listening more like a child than his own mother. When he was about to leave, he took the shopping bag on the table which he had brought in earlier and I walked him to the door.
“I thought you are supposed to be in the florist shop,” he said. “Don’t tell me you learn to skip work from Mrs. McCoy.” Mrs. McCoy, for your information, is a friend who also works at the florist shop. She always has some time to be absent though she is apparently in good health. She is two years older than me and with such happiness and good life, I think, you might not be meeting her in next ten years. Well, in hearing my son’s remarks I looked blankly at him and smiled. He promised me to come again the next day and then I saw him walking casually along the corridor, a hand in his pocket, jingling his coins and keys. After a few steps, he stopped, making a funny U-turn in front of the lifts, like always.
I couldn’t help myself but laughed in front of the door knowing that he had forgotten something. He always forgets the first thing he has remembered.
“But the way, Mother,” he said. “This is actually for you.” He gave me the shopping bag and left.
I really hope, Mr. Grim Reaper that you still remember my son, Edward, who stood next to me on the right during my husband’s funeral. He is my only son, the one who always tries to cheer me up after his Dad passed away three years ago. He is jovial, Grim Reaper, isn’t he? He is a kind of person who would make you laugh even after thousand years of sorrow. He also loves to nag at times, reflecting myself in my olden days. He has grown to be a nice young man.
If only he would just live with me, he might not have to face all those cruel things in life. He was scratching through his collage life, and I knew it, yet he told me he did not want to burden me with more financial matters. I recalled cursing his wretched sense of freedom that took him away from me. Somehow, no matter how hard, a parent would yield to every wish a child desires and he is the child of all my children, my only progeny.
After having breakfast in front of the television and dressed myself, I locked the door while singing a lousy song that I just remembered. Then I found myself on the street walking to the florist shop. Everyone looked amazingly busy that day and the traffic moved with a strange rapidity. I walked heedlessly trying to reach the shop as fast as I could even though I knew something would hold me back, Grim Reaper, such things that I would suddenly remember from the deepest gulf of my soul. I would just buy some white roses, I think, instead of selling them and I would go back home in mourn.
Next day I heard a knock at the door and his voice calling me. “Mother, Mother, are you in there?” He opened the door and found me sitting on the couch flabbergasted. From where I was sitting I could see his black familiar figure holding a shopping bag at the opened door in silhouette.
“Why didn’t you switch on the light? It’s dark in here.” He groped for the switch on the wall and, lo and behold, the light was on revealing the loftiness of my apartment. I heard him sigh and saw him shaking his head. He put the shopping bag on the table and trudged reluctantly to the living room. I was sure he noticed a vast of withered white roses besides the television. He slowly knelt down picking up all the photo albums which were scattering on the floor.
“You know, when I was a boy, you always scolded me for making a mess at home, and I am a naughty brat am I not? A trip back home from a football match is all a neat mother can handle,” he said rather bitterly. I did not know why I slowly smiled listening to it. To think about it you see how ironic I have changed. After he finished tidying and cleaning the house he went to the kitchen for a drink. From the living room I could hear him complaining about my messy kitchen.
“You know, you didn’t lock the door when I came here!” he shouted from the kitchen. “There was a burglary next block yesterday. People say they disguise like beggars, begging for food. Mother, do you hear me?” I didn’t answer him. I was excited at that time, I guess. By and by, I had forgotten something, something very important. I was happy about it and I didn’t care if I would never remember.
“I need to go now. Don’t forget to lock the door.” He took the shopping bag on the table and I rose walking him to the door.
“I thought you are supposed to be at the florist shop. Don’t tell me you learn to skip work like Mrs. McCoy.” I smiled again feeling like a young trainee on probation.
“I’ll come again tomorrow, Mother. Don’t you forget that.” He walked casually down the corridor, a hand shaking his coins and keys in his pocket. After a few steps he turned back making an expected u-turn as he reached the lift.
“By the way, Mother, I forgot, this is actually for you,” he handed me the shopping bag while I was laughing and left. He was a nice boy, wasn’t he, Mr. Grim Reaper? He was kind too; too kind that he would probably help those beggars even he knew that they might be burglars playing incognito. By and by, I could sense tears flowing down from my eyes. Yes, he was too kind, and kind people, you said, never stay long in this world, and so he died two months ago being killed in a burglary.
I sobbed in front of my door all by myself while watching him walked away along the hallway. I wondered, Mr. Grim Reaper, and I wish you can tell me, sir, why I keep seeing him everyday and he gives me this bag of groceries which I can not even feel though I hug it tightly in my arms?
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