Sometimes, some photos are such that they enchant you and make you wonder what story does they convey.
I felt the same when I saw this image, shot by Vaishali, and some characters sketched up in my mind: a kid, her mom, and this old house. So I penned down this short story that played in my mind on seeing this image.
I hope you’ll like it. 🙂
Walls were cracked, paint had faded away, doors were half-eaten by termites, windows were broken. Still, he stood there, watching the house. Somehow, admiring it.
‘Son! Come here, baby. Don’t stand there. The house is too old. It could be harmful.’
But, he didn’t move.
‘See baby, the paint is fading away, and water is dripping from above. You’ll get dirty. Come! Let’s go home.’
‘It’s not water, mummy. The old house is crying.’
She looked at the house, with empathy, and then took her son back to their home.
Next evening, she saw her son loathed with mud and scratches, and mark of leaves all over his arms and clothes.
‘Baby! Where have you been? Were you playing in the mud again?’
‘No mom! I planted some seeds and flowers in front of that old house. It will never cry again.’
Beamed his little son, and so did she.
But, the old house cried again, for the love it received from that innocent life.