Candle Of Hope

• Adeel Shaukat, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2022

The glistening night sky glowed with the pale moon like a silvery claw illuminating the cloud of stars. A door hinge opened with a painful groan. Inside, I trudged through the cramped corridors, forlorn in my path to my sole relief – to sleep off the day’s attack of grief and burden. Past the kitchen, I eyed Father’s room – the door ajar revealing a dark, somber place covered in thick velvet curtains, and a silhouette hunched over a piece of parchment.

“Abu”. The silhouette remained motionless.

Father’s gaze remained focused in front of him. Inside, a candle’s exiguous flames quivered nervously, its light feeble and insufficient.
No acknowledgement arrived from him. Yet I did not expect it. I resented him. My life shattered in his absence to write.
I ambled on towards my bed – the hinged window letting out a ghastly serenity on my sheets. Its ghostly appearance brought on memories of my late Mother, memories that were almost forgotten –

*

The chilly night wrapped its cruel hands around me – a shivering lock. I listen to the sound of fighting – screams that denigrated and shunned.
A bellow from my mother turned into a snarl as she screeched. Father roared, his expression contorting, and his vein popped as he barked accusingly at Mother. A sprawl of legal papers taunted the pair, and Father’s intransigence of writing brought on a conflicting assiduity between them.

Fear crept over me like a tangible force, holding me captive. My mother, noticing my anguish, succors me with that pained smile.

“Why do you and Father fight?” I eyed the unpaid mortgage papers.

No answer. Her overworked hands were tough with broad fingers, with the hams of her hands gleaming with callus. She entwined her fingers with mine, her strained reassurance liberating my grief.

The candle beside her glowed a natural hallowed glow, permeating the room in a brilliant gold illumination in a mesmerizing flicker of amber embers.

*
- memories brought to an abrupt end, bitter by the sad passing of my mother, one in cold silence as she met Death’s bitter embrace.
I feel my conscience ebbing away and my eyes grow deep. I give myself to the pursuer, to exhaustion.


***

Dawn arises fresh and strong, and early morning glistens as droplets of rain tap upon my window.
I trudge forward out of my room, sedately reflecting on my bittersweet memories.

I notice Father’s room ajar. The weary figure of Father was slumped across his desk. A bright envelope catches my eye.
Hastily, I advance into his room, clutching the envelope. Half-opened, the writing messy but still legible – I could still interpret the words:

It was an apology to Mother.

And outside that envelope was a job offer.
And the once feeble candle now brought a strong arc of glorious gold light, defying the darkness before it and flickering in beautiful geometries.

A dazzling look of solicitude stole my eyes, and a smile of tender adoration spread across my face.