Saturday, April 3, 2010

Asthmatic



With heavy steps, she tottered to the kitchen, turned the kettle on and waited outside for the water to be boiled. Her eyes closed and suddenly, she was lost in a line of thoughts that mingled with incomprehensible short dreams. The sound of the whistling steam stopping abruptly woke her up. She poured the water into her favorite cup and added a packet of coffee and sugar.
Holding the cup in her hand, now more awake, she headed back for her room. The world was still sinking in darkness. In fact, the sunrise was two hours away. And that was exactly what woke her up quite so early. She put the cup on the table next to her bed, and snatched the novel lying on the same table. Reading a few lines, she realized that was not the thing she wanted to do. She closed the book and returned it back to its place.
She opened the window above her bed and lied on her back while contemplating the stars. Once again she was lost in her line of thought utterly unaware of anything happening outside.
The abrupt sound of the door flung open made her heart skip a beat as she tilted her head quite as quickly to see who it was. A shudder ran through her body as she saw her mother darting flaringly towards the opened window. She covered herself with the quilts as a reflex reaction but knew that would only make things worse. With shaking voice she blurted, “I didn’t sleep like that, I’ve just opened it.” Her mother, still furious said, “You stupid thing! How many times do I have to tell you, you are not allowed to open the window after 5 p.m!”  She covered her eyes for as long as two minutes after the window was closed, then slowly looked through the cracks between her fingers to find her mum still glaring at her. Now she was gone.
She didn’t cry, nor did she hate her mother. She rather laughed sardonically at how ironic things can get. She, of all people, had to adore the night air so much that she would happily endure doing stunts like that on a daily basis. She, who almost annually was thrown into furious fits of coughing that would last for months on end, bereaving her of her voice and making her so frail she couldn’t lift a paper out of its place. However, she looked at the whole thing from another angle; maybe if not for the adventure it would take to enjoy her beautiful breezes, she wouldn’t love air so much.
She heard a door being closed. Almost automatically, she rose out of her bed, opened the window, and began drinking the coffee.

I want you to tell me, do you think I'm better at prose or poetry?

16 comments:

Dianne said...

Not sure yet, between prose and poetry. I like prose better, less formal and confined.
I especially am struck by your phrase she loved the air,
beautiful.

Oddyoddyo13 said...

This was so sweet, and sad. I'm not sure if you were better at prose or poetry, but right off the top of my head......poetry. But the thing with both of them is that they improve with time, so that a year from now or so, I wouldn't be able to decide to save my life!

RA said...

I say prose. That doesn't mean that you are better in prose, just that I like it better. :)
I think you have the ability to use words wittily. All the way to the ending that always is something else than expected. You rock. :)

Brian Miller said...

i am all for a regular mix of both...i think they use similar skills yet with dramatic different effect...

beutiful tale, yet sad...

i was asthmatic as a child but grew out ofit...

Paula said...

Beautiful words of a sad story. You have such a way with words! Hugs from Germany, Paula xx

Dulce said...

Sad story, but so good!
In answer to your question, hard to say... I really think you are SO GOOD at both!... as any writer!
:)

Maha said...

Brian, I am actually asthmatic and this story is based on some situations I had to go through just to sneak and breathe the beautiful cold air. I still sneak, but I kinda developed a sixth sense towards doorknobs, and I never get caught :P

Tumblewords: said...

Enjoyed this piece very much. This prose rings with poetic tones and shows a slice of life that resonates with many. Nice!

Lisa said...

hmmmmm, wondering if this was a true story. To some the mother may seem menacing, but as a mother of one with asthma, I could tell it was out of love and fear. But I see the daughter's point of view,too because I was once a daughter. :) I liked it.

jingleyanqiu.wordpress.com said...

love this post1

THE BEATY said...

sad same thing happens to 1 of my freinds. Favorite part of 1984... hmm I loved the times when theres the whole mind blowing philisophical questions like changing the past an such. Also I do love your prose though your poetrys also awsome hmm might have to think about it...

Craftsman of light said...

i have been missing a lot lately....
Now as far as your question is concerned....i'd say ' follow your heart'...when it comes in like a song sing it! And when it comes in like a silence.... listen to it!

e! said...

lovely. i enjoyed your piece

Magpie said...

I agree with Brian...I love a mix of both styles. They each have their own unique appeal but bring the same wordcraft and soul to the table. I can understand how hard it would be not to be able to enjoy the night air.
Happy Easter to you!

Angie Muresan said...

Your words are lovely.

chiccoreal said...

Maha You are a very talented and imaginative writer. I love your poems, they are amazing. Your short stories encompass the reader in the world of the protagonist. Excellent descriptions and mood. Insightful and deep as well. Please keep writing! Bravo!