Heartbreak Vs Tenderness

• Shivangi Kakkar, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2018

Heartbreak Vs Tenderness

It is dark. Pitch-black. Sombre and murky. Spine-chilling and eerie. It is bloody. I have no other choice. Amara and I are the only ones watching the scarlet bloody lashing on the concrete roads. We are holding our hands firmly as our throats tightened and our breath shortened. A solemn tear fell down my cheek. It was over and they are gone. Gone forever.
I wake up, bewildered the next morning. My husband is not next to me. Where is he? Where is my son? Where is Amara? Running to her bedroom, I open the door with effort. Amara lies still, her hand upon her belly, rising up and down. Looking down at the bunk bed I see no Aidan. I yell and yell. No it isn’t true. They are not dead. They are still here. Somewhere.
I get a phone ring. I don’t pick it up. I can’t. I don’t eat a single item. I cry until my face is drenched.
‘Amara, please eat. You are a 15 year old girl now. I don’t want you starving,’ I tell her.
‘No mum. I can’t. Father and brother have left. They’ve left without me. Even If I have to starve for the rest of my life, I will. Please mum, bring them back. Dad was the only one who used to give me a warm cuddle when he came home. A peck on my cheek and a huge pack of Toblerone when I was sad. Aidan used to annoy me. He annoyed me so hard I ended up pinching his wrist. I want him to keep annoying me. I don’t care mum. Please. Bring them back.’
Amara bawled her tears out after the last word. I hugged her. I hugged her hard. It was only the two of us left.
We turn the television even though I knew neither I nor Amara are interested. Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Opening the door cautiously, I see two policemen in front of us. Their faces were stern as they came in. I told them everything. From the man attacking my husband to my little boy trying to save him. It was torture having to talk about this tragedy. Complete and utter torture.
‘Unfortunately, and please understand, they were both not able to survive. The hospital did everything they could.’
After this, they exited. They are gone and that is it.
10 years later
It has been 10 years since my husband and son passed away and I have only started getting over all the misery. Coming out of the shops, Amara with her alluring eyes and exquisite dress started to softly hum the tune of ‘beautiful day.’ It was short, but nice of Amara to take time off her work in assisting me for the party. As I get into the car, I see a man, just like the one who tried hurting my husband and son with his tattooed arm and ear piercings, pushing a little child in the corner of my eyes. People start surrounding the area. My heart races and it reminds me of my son. My dear son, buried in the cemetery. Tears well in my eyes and I run to the scene.
Grasping the boy’s elbow, I rush him into the car and drive off with Amara following behind.
‘Thank you,’ he speaks shyly.
‘Where are your parents?’ Amara asks sternly.
He hesitates for a few seconds. Silence remains in the car.
He finally speaks, ‘I’m an orphan. My parents perished in a fire last week.’ Silence fills the car a second time.
At home Amara feeds him some lunch.
Sitting down, I tell him with my softest voice,’ we’ll take care of you.’
He comes over and embraces me. I am Speechless. I take the moment to hug him back, just like I did to my son.