You may or may not know that I have a boss/pimp who allocates me writing tasks every so often. (these can be found on Dawny’s Mini Seriessssss page).
Well; this job has led to another task that I’ve invented, as a naturally formed sideline…
Due to my inability to be succinct!
Welcome to Dawny’s Mediums!
Whenever I try to write a short, and I start getting too far away from my word limit. (as I just did) I’m gonna make it a medium, and as its my 33rd year and I’m obsessed with the number 3, the rules are, (like the shorts) each must tell a story with a point. But instead of 50 words, they must all be exactly 333 words…
Here’s my 1st shot at a medium.
But mostly, he wishes…
He was just 5; when he saw a slum for the first time; and he was a sensitive boy, his Dad could see in his eyes long before the tears, that it had hit him hard. His eyes welled up, as he stared at these people who looked just like him, and he wondered
What were they doing standing on the rubbish? Why were they living in houses like this?
His Daddy said “Don’t worry son, you’ll never have to see this place again”
And he didn’t. On their further trips to Mumbai, his Dad made sure he didn’t travel that route ever again, he never forgot their first visit, and they were very close.
The whole family made the effort to get together, and they were so pleased to see each other. They smiled and exchanged tales. Aadesh thought it would be a nice gesture for them all to cook and bring a dish from their childhood, one of the many their aunty used to make with them; when they visited her in the holidays. There were so many nieces and nephews, they all toasted ‘Aunty’ as they shared their dishes around. Seated in the Concorde, for it’s ‘flight finale’.
Tragically, there was just one survivor; the world reeled as the news of the crash unfolded on the TV screens of the west…
It’s the smell that gets to him most; it’s been 3 months since he arrived here. He has got the vomiting down to four times a day now, and for that he is grateful. Strange how ‘what you are grateful for’ changes.
When he stands on the stagnant heap every-day, searching for slithers of plastic; he wonders how he got here…
But mostly he wishes his recurrent childhood dream, of taking all those people away from that awful place; had remained in adulthood.
Once weekly, he sifts amongst the dirty carrot peelings; from his ‘great great second cousins’ rubbish.
If only she knew he existed.