You watch as your son gasps for breath; battling for life. His stomach growls loudly just as his swinging thin hands try to push yours away when you hold on to it. Your stomach growls in response to his but that was irrelevant now, compared to the issue at hand. Your wife looks at you accusingly, expecting you to do something as the head of the family. You look away in shame, for indeed you can do anything.
“I am going to the landlord’s place”, she says, standing up.
“No, no it hasn’t gotten to that”, you plead brokenly.
“That’s the only choice we have, I can’t watch my son die.” She says with tears in her eyes.
You reassure her you will do something. You are going out now. You hurriedly put on your shirt which is now twice your size. You have emaciated over the passed months. You promise to bring something back home no matter how little so they can feed.
You go out to the same people who had told you “no” on numerous occasions. You beg again. They say “no” again. You walk back home devastated not knowing how to break the news to your wife.
The outcry from your neighbour welcomes you home.
It calls out to your wife who comes out of the landlord’s room immodestly dressed carrying food with her.
You look on in disbelief as your landlord grins at you from the door.
Your wife is crying and your neighbour’s wail brings your attention back to your son in her arms.
He is dead.
Read – Listening to the Wind – A Flash Fiction by Furstenberg Patricia, South Africa
——-
The Writers Space Africa(WSA) Magazine is published by a team of professionals and downloadable for free. If you would like to support our work, please buy us coffee – https://www.buymeacoffee.com/wsamagazine
