Quietus "A finishing stroke; anything that eventually
ends or settles."
You are fifteen years old. You stand in front of your
mother's bed, and see her struggling for consciousness. Your little brother
quietly stands there with you too.
"Do we call up Papa Pernia?” your brother
whispers.
"He's in Karachi, what can he possibly do?” you reply
back.
"Mama needs the hospital. Who do we ask for help?”
You look back at your little brother, thinking how he should
have been watching Saturday morning cartoons instead.
"No one. We'll manage"
You tell your brother to get dressed. You call up a taxi and
take your mother to the hospital yourself, feeling the burden of life grow
heavier along the way. You rush her into the emergency.
The doctors assure you that everything will be fine; you've
been a brave girl getting your mother till here by yourself but now they'll
take over from here so you don’t need to worry.
You look towards your brother and force a smile. "See? She’
ll be alright now. I told you we would manage."
He stares at you quietly for a while. "Will you be
alright?" He asks.
I don’t think I ever
will bro. I see our mother suffer everyday but I can’t help her. So instead I
sit around all day thinking about the future. And let me tell you the more I
think about it, the more I get scared because I don’t find our mother in it. I
wish time would stop. I don’t like change little brother, what if it's not for
the best? I’m growing quieter each day, I barely talk to people. Maybe if I
stay quiet enough, I’ll turn invisible and life would stop noticing me. Maybe
it would stop noticing our mother too then. If I stay quiet long enough, I
think everything will be just fine.
"Pernia? Where you lost?"
You hold your brother's small hand, pressing
it gently.
"Everything will be just fine. Don’t
worry."
