Flash Fiction #06:
There was a tree in the backyard of my grandmother’s house. As children, my little sister and I used to pull our grandmother out of the house to sit under the tree, all the way imploring her to entertain us with her fables. In shine, its many gnarled branches and crowded leaves gave us shade for our play. After rain, I used to climb the bough and shake a branch laden with the red flowers; my sister, standing underneath, would get wet with petals and rain-beads.
It was a part of our childhood, and our grandmother. After her death, the house was razed and the land was sold. The proceeds obtained were divided equally among my father and his brothers – each living in one corner of the world. Now, after returning from college, exhausted, I sit on a wooden chair with my legs stretched on a short wooden table before me; both made from that tree.