Of parts

This past week, I read through a book that was supposed to last a month. It is a book that is so well written, that the line between fiction and reality is crossed quite often. The author has the unique ability to draw in the reader and immerse them in a cacophony of emotions ranging from pain to extreme happiness. What am I getting to?

We are all born with a story. A story that is unique to each of us. In addition, some of us are gifted in telling those stories, while others need some help to bring their stories to the world.

Is there someone whose story you want to hear? Have you asked them?

Is there someone whose story you’d like to help them tell? Have you asked them?

In today’s post, I will attempt to tell a story…to tickle your imagination…who knows when and where the story will end? Here goes….

She sat up listening attentively to the gentle scratches on her ceiling. She had been alone for as long as her young memory could recall. She tried to stretch to reach up to the ceiling which seemed just centimetres away, but she couldn’t get her fingertips to brush the surface. The gentle scratches stopped and she waited to hear them again but they didn’t return.

Tisa often woke up to the chirping of the birds or the barking of a distant dog. This morning was no different.  She stirred as soon as she heard the sound of the gentle scratches on her ceiling. She gingerly settled into a comfortable position on her bed and listened out again. With each scratch, her curiosity rose. She padded across her room barefoot to get the long broom handle that leaned on the bedroom door. Using it to tap her ceiling, she listened out again for the gentle scratches. But alas, they did not return. With a dismal sigh, she trotted across her room heading to her closet because Mrs. Sana didn’t allow anyone to eat breakfast without proper clothing. 

“Two bowls of porridge please!”

“Extra raisins please!”

“Ugh! I hate sugarless tea!”

Tisa listened to the chatter in the small kitchen with a small smile. As noisy as they could get, her friends had quickly become the only family that she knew.

“Tisa! Any longer and you’ll miss your breakfast!”

Tisa could hear Mrs. Sana shouting over the complaints and requests in her kitchen. She slid past the table and got her bowl of porridge. She planned to go exploring later in the day and she always felt that the porridge allowed her to stay longer without having to head back home for lunch.

…….to be continued