Her father had a way with worlds. Even in the lowest of times, when the bombs flooded her home with blood and human parts of loved ones, he would simply just wash it off and move on. He'd always turned and look back at her, point towards the big ball of fire in the great heavens above, laugh and say, "That's where they are. Look up! It's so shiny there, look child, look!" She'd smile as his laughter melted into hers. She never quite understood why people were leaving Syria, and going to the big ball. But nevertheless she wanted to go there too, but her father didn't like it there she guessed. Maybe that's why he never took her there. Her mother and sisters had already left for the big ball, so couldn't she?
Even when they crossed the big blue ocean, he never stopped talking about the great big ball. It always hurt when she looked at it. But she never did stop dreaming about it. Even when their tiny boat was almost swallowed by the chaos of the ocean; not even then. She imaged the big ball as her fairy tales described it, with all the girls in their shimmery long gowns, all the boys in their best clad clothes, as the big ball swayed in happiness in the presence of all her loved ones. Every night, she prayed for the mornings, even though the big ball burned her skin most days.
Her father never stopped telling stories of all the pretty balls taking place up there. He never stopped.
As they neared land, she knew her father was half the size he was back in Syria. When they hugged, her hands never felt so empty and worried her father was leaving. Leaving to get ready for the big ball. She asked him if he was going to take her there, to which, her father just smiled and said, ''No. I have to prepare the people in the big ball for you. The people of this land won't be able to withstand the shine of the big ball if you came child, for that I might leave you here, alone. I'm so sorry!''. She didn't know what her father was saying sorry for, but felt saddened of the thought of her father leaving, but also happy he was going to her favourite place.
Her father didn't last more than 3 days at the refugee camp. But in those 3 days, he had already informed her of the colour of the ball gown he was going to prepare, her shoes, jewellery, everything. She told him all of her heart's desires and how she had pictured the ball in her head to be, as he promised he would make it all come true.
On the night that he died, she remembered the next morning being the hottest and most sunniest day ever. Almost the whole of mankind on earth wailed and cried about the warmth, but she didn't. "My father's in that big ball up there and almost my whole country is up there celebrating him. He's the most beautiful man they'll ever see and that's why they are celebrating him. Isn't that just wonderful?" she'd tell everybody, as she laughed and closed her eyes to breathe in the magic of the sun and all the people in it, celebrating her father.
And what a sunny, sunny day that was.
Side note: I'm trying my hand at short stories. Let me know if you think this is any good in the comments below.
This one's for all the refugees in the world. I'm sorry that this is happening and hope you find this in good health. I hope you find your sun in this darkness.
Sending love, hugs, warmth and sunning days to you,
Love
Keen Blogger.
Even when they crossed the big blue ocean, he never stopped talking about the great big ball. It always hurt when she looked at it. But she never did stop dreaming about it. Even when their tiny boat was almost swallowed by the chaos of the ocean; not even then. She imaged the big ball as her fairy tales described it, with all the girls in their shimmery long gowns, all the boys in their best clad clothes, as the big ball swayed in happiness in the presence of all her loved ones. Every night, she prayed for the mornings, even though the big ball burned her skin most days.
Her father never stopped telling stories of all the pretty balls taking place up there. He never stopped.
As they neared land, she knew her father was half the size he was back in Syria. When they hugged, her hands never felt so empty and worried her father was leaving. Leaving to get ready for the big ball. She asked him if he was going to take her there, to which, her father just smiled and said, ''No. I have to prepare the people in the big ball for you. The people of this land won't be able to withstand the shine of the big ball if you came child, for that I might leave you here, alone. I'm so sorry!''. She didn't know what her father was saying sorry for, but felt saddened of the thought of her father leaving, but also happy he was going to her favourite place.
Her father didn't last more than 3 days at the refugee camp. But in those 3 days, he had already informed her of the colour of the ball gown he was going to prepare, her shoes, jewellery, everything. She told him all of her heart's desires and how she had pictured the ball in her head to be, as he promised he would make it all come true.
On the night that he died, she remembered the next morning being the hottest and most sunniest day ever. Almost the whole of mankind on earth wailed and cried about the warmth, but she didn't. "My father's in that big ball up there and almost my whole country is up there celebrating him. He's the most beautiful man they'll ever see and that's why they are celebrating him. Isn't that just wonderful?" she'd tell everybody, as she laughed and closed her eyes to breathe in the magic of the sun and all the people in it, celebrating her father.
And what a sunny, sunny day that was.
Side note: I'm trying my hand at short stories. Let me know if you think this is any good in the comments below.
This one's for all the refugees in the world. I'm sorry that this is happening and hope you find this in good health. I hope you find your sun in this darkness.
Sending love, hugs, warmth and sunning days to you,
Love
Keen Blogger.
