Short Story: Mornings


Don’t you love mornings? The rising sun, chirping birds, waking afresh, the proverbial morning rush to work, the brightness. Mornings are where the life happens. A sign that things are going to be great soon. The brighter side of living. And all those quotes – After the darkness comes the light. The dawn of a new age. Remember them?
I don’t remember when I started to fear mornings. I used to love it in those days though. My first sighting of the morning was my dad spanking my little brother awake and his sleepy moaning that I often imitate during breakfast. There was an innocently wicked fun in putting him off guard and laugh aloud at his “I would never have said that” look. The morning music was my mother’s clanging utensils, getting the family geared up for the morning rush. Four slices of bread and jam, sometimes with an omelet and forcibly gulping down a glass of milk listening to mom’s ranting how it is so bad for a young girl refusing to drink milk.

Then there was dad’s newspaper from which he peeped out every other minute to look at the clock on the wall counting down the minutes for the morning news on television (radios were already out of fashion). When the news got over, it was also time for the school bus and we rushed out waving our hands at mom and dad, grabbing our water bottle, fastening the school bag, to the bus stop to join a bunch of other children in white and blue uniforms. I kept waving at mom and dad not losing their sight, until I turned down the street.

Such are my images of the dead. Later in life, I found comfort in Rehan. I was not the romantic kind. My romantic days passed over along with my teens. So I wouldn’t say it was romantic, but it felt secure to be in his arms. To wake up in the morning sensing that he’s been hugging me. Or atleast knowing that he’s sleeping just beside me, if not hugging. I always woke up before him and softly shook his shoulders and whispered the arrival of morning. We followed this ritual every morning – I wake up, shake him, and he wakes up. And then one morning, he didn’t.

My bed is rather vacant without him. Like my mind. I keep the other side of the bed disturbed before going to sleep, so I don’t miss him too much in the morning. May be he’s just gone somewhere. And he’ll wake up from that side of the bed one morning, and then everything is going to be great. What if he doesn’t? That’s not a sad thought. Because I know he will not. But I’ll just as well keep waiting for him every morning.

These days I feel lonely. And that’s what makes me happy. The morning rush and the crowd scares me. I prefer the darkness and its silence, sitting on my bed, holding on to my pillow, closing my eyes. I don’t feel like talking to anyone, only to myself. I live two lives. By the day, I’m the woman who doesn’t talk much, minds her own business at work and gets back home as soon as she can. By the night, I’m myself.

It’s now time for my sleep. How I long for this minute. I don’t know why, but I’m particularly happy today. So this night I’ll dream. And in my dream I’ll meet my family, have four slices of bread and omelet. And a glass of milk.


10 Responses to “Short Story: Mornings

  1. 1 usha

    Loved this!

  2. Hmmm… things we have to do, to make peace with ourselves.

    Good one.

  3. oooooh. what a lovely piece. stunner, given the insight into the mind.

  4. Vivid description!

  5. “Don’t you love mornings?”

    I love mornings where I get to read such delightful posts like this.

  6. 6 N


  7. Good one. It touched a chord somewhere deep down inside me.

  8. 8 Shanae

    ACHHOO! :)

  9. Nice story! It’s…sad! Sadder because of the utter lack of hysterics from the sad lady of the story! Well done!

  10. I’ve been browsing online more than three hours today, yet I never found any interesting article like yours. It’s pretty worth enough for me. In my opinion, if all web owners and bloggers made good content as you did, the net will be much more useful than ever before.

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