Tube of light

Note (for the untrained :P): Blogposts like these don't have one inference or one moral per se. They are meant to be abrupt - because they are meant to make the readers think and make their own interpretations.


I took a step towards the hut. An old wooden plank that barely covered the entrance formed the door. The plank that was hinged at only one place creaked as I pushed it open. I was scared to let go of it. I thought it may fall apart.


An old lady sat on the floor blowing into a long tube to ignite the fire. She looked at me and kept the tube down. The way she wiped her forehead with the back of her palm had something familiar about it.

A tube of light entered the hut from the center of the roof. The cyclone had torn apart her roof at several places.

"He was my son who died in the cyclone", she said handing me what looked like an old photograph. She spoke with a strange accent. But somehow, I could follow it.



I stared in silence as I saw her son. I looked at the tiny mirror hanging on the wall by a peg. I could not believe the resemblance.



I could not see more. I woke up drenched in sweat.