I don't think stories just appear on paper. I believe they snatch the author awake and drag them by their toes to their computer. Writing this story was a little like that for me... Hopefully the story speaks to you as much as it did me:
Jival's Visitor
A
sharp ray of sun cut the room in half diagonally; and behind a visible curtain
of dust was a bed just big enough for a child. A woman lay sprawled across this
petite bed, her arm hung to the floor and her head turned to the side. Her eyes
got lost behind the worry on her face. A warm glow washed over her skin, but
the sight of her body lured in your eyes and hit you like a bullet. Her hip
bones protruded from her sides, and her ribs pressed against her vibrantly
colored shirt with each wheezing breath.
Her struggling hand shifted from the floor to her
stomach. She rested her fingers gently across her side. The skeleton of her
body sunk into the bed, and the only rise in shape you could see was the
roundness of her belly. Sadaf was nearly nine months pregnant with her second
child; her first a boy of seven years now.
Jival was full of life, his laughter filled the barren
room. His almond-shaped brown eyes held back the tears he felt, and his smile
brought forth the strength his mother needed. He would walk down to the river
each morning at dawn with a pail half as big as him. He would splash in the
cool water only when nobody was looking, and then rush to fill up the bucket
and bring it to his mother. The dirt road got washed with spilled water as he
trudged the long distance. He tried to be as careful as he possibly could, but
somehow only came back with a half of what he had gotten at the shallow river.
She would wash him each morning with this water; singing
a soft song that was engrained in his memory. He would watch her lips as they
sang the same soothing tune. Only this morning he noticed that they were
cracked and dry. The color had disappeared and the outline was no longer
defined. They fought to enunciate words that had come natural only just what
seemed like the day before. Her voice became hoarse in the last line of the
song. Jival’s eyebrows rose with worry.
He watched Sadaf inch back over and lay on the bed,
holding her stomach the entire time. Jival knew this was a sign he should go
outside. He pulled on his thread-barren sandals and galloped outside. His mind
was puzzled, but he wasn’t sure what to think. He ran to the edge of the road,
and stopped instantly on the side of the road. A rugged car was making its way
down his road; gliding over everything in its path. Jival turned and ran as fast as his legs could
carry him to where his mother lay.
His words were flowing so fast Sadaf didn’t know what he
was saying. Her hand rested on the boy’s shoulder and her words were calm and
reassuring. Although she didn’t understand what he was so worked up about, she
tried her best to assure him that nothing bad was happening. The boy’s mind
raced to the hoarse tone of her voice that morning, and he peered at her
cracked lips. He tried to tell her that someone was coming. He tried to tell
her that it wasn’t family. He tried to tell her that is wasn’t someone walking
or riding a bike. He tried, but he couldn’t muster up enough patience to get
his words across.
He stomped out of the house with frustration. He began to
gather the sticks he had made into his toys, but heard his mother shriek. The
lump in his throat got unmanageable and his stomach dropped. The sticks dropped
to the ground in slow motion and his feet kicked dirt as he swiftly spun around
to go inside. She was holding her stomach; grasping for the half-filled pail of
water. Jival didn’t know what to do; he could only think of the car coming up
the road.
He looked at Sadaf boldly once, and then tore through the
dirt road to the car. His frail hands were thrashing in the air, trying to gain
attention. The car skidded to a stop. He wasn’t sure if this was the right
thing to do, or if he should have just asked his mother.
A man with a freshly shaved face, and a firmly pressed
shirt got out of the car. He had boxes of supplies in the back of his Jeep, and
wore a metal device around his neck. Jival wasn’t sure if it was a necklace or
some sort of torture device. The same look that crossed his face that morning
came again. He tried to talk to the man. The man overpowered Jival with a deep,
booming voice. He was scared and took steps backwards away from him. In the
back of his mind his mother’s scream echoed and he gained ten seconds of pure
courage. He grabbed the man’s giant hand and pulled him towards where Sadaf
was.
The man willingly raced with the child back to the hut.
By the time they got to Sadaf, she was panting for air, screaming and holding
her stomach. Her contractions were powerful and she was grabbing the side of
the tiny bed with extreme force. Tears welled up in her eyes when she saw the
man. She knew that he was a doctor. She saw the firmly pressed white shirt, and
stethoscope around his neck. She reached out for his hand; she tried to scream
for his help but nothing came out but hollow air.
Jival felt his eyelids growing heavy. He felt his neck
radiating heat and his mind blacking out. He fought through the dust filled
room to get back outside. He sat against the mud-packed walls of the house
until everything around him had a daunting shadow. He rested his head against
the wall, and a bright star caught his attention. As soon as he saw the star, a
piercing, whimpering cry belted out!
“MATA!” Jival said.
Sadaf turned her head as her oldest boy ran to her side.
She held out her arms and Jival rushed into them. The man in the Jeep was
cradling her new son. He looked at Jival with fear in his eyes. He sensed this
and looked back at his mother. Her weak arm motioned for him to see the baby.
He walked as slow as he could all the way.
The bottles of pills beside Sadaf’s bed were empty. The
tops of the white lids were covered in dust, and the dates were from almost
nine months prior. The jar of what-used-to-be coins next to the bed had only
scraps of old metal. The glass reflected only the man’s image, no glint of
money. The man picked up the bottles and looked back at her with disbelief. He
told her he needed to go back to his Jeep to get supplies, he could help. She
grabbed his hand, and it only took one look. She spent many months wondering if
she would make it this far. Thanks to his help, she gave life to a new son.
Her withered body lay enamored by her two sons. Jival was
lost in his brother’s precious look, and the man turned his head to wipe the
rush of tears flowing down his face.
Jival was now a big brother; Jival was now an
orphan.
Exhaustion
had taken its toll; HIV/ AIDS had taken its toll. But that was then, and this
is now. And something like that could never happen today.
