As I stepped through the front door, something felt different.

the usual smell of dinner

was absent and I knew something had changed.

Write a story which include these words.

A child’s worst sight

As I sat at the chair beside my mother’s casket tears cascaded down my face. I

gazed upon my mother who laid in the wooden casket decorated with white, red and

lavender flowers. My mother, a goddess attired in white lace dress and dazzling jewelry

laid before me. The population at the funeral was packed like the particles in a solid

ware. Many persons were dressed in ornate shalwar, colourful curtas and bead filled

saris. The colours ranged from pink to blue, to cyan to purple. Many persons were on

their knees sobbing as though they were vomiting. The events at this funeral could not

be more sentimental. My mouth had a taste of salty tears. For the longest while I didn’t

experience such taste and I was not going to experience it anytime soon until this

incident occurred. The pandit- I requested to carry out my mother’s ritual was politely

seated on a red, smug comfy rug. My relatives and my step dad sat in front of him sadly

partaking in the death ritual. Sadly, I refused to partake in such ritual although it was

customary for the son to do it. I gazed at them in my white kurta and black genes as

my imagination went back to that day when my mother, Sita died.

Back on that day the weather was as fickle as Gwen’s teenage sister one minute

it over flowed with generous sunshine, all bright and unfettered golden rays stretching

its ray above Harlem. The next it was dark brooding, threatening to bring down the

storm with every ounce of power at its disposal.

It was one of those days when everything was going right then suddenly that one day

just changed your whole life. After a fun day of football with my friends; I was going

home from school. As I walked through the streets, I could only imagine my mother’s
flavorful dinner as I was beginning to salivate. It had many mouth -watering and a

unique aroma. I licked my dry lips as the thoughts of Baked chicken came to mind. It

was indeed mouth-watering. As I further strolled through the streets many thoughts ran

through my imagination whether or not to use the rest room at the gas station located a

few blocks from where I was walking. Eventually I came up with the decision to wait

until I arrive home. I was often amazed at the many construction sites and flowers

which laid beside the streets. The flowers perfuming scent permeated throughout the air

while the orange petals with tinted green colours were a soulmate to the eye. It was a

breath-taking view to look at. Interrupted from my thoughts i saw my three -story white

painted house from a distance; I ran towards it like an insane person with every mind of

seeing my beloved mother. My heart and breathing rate accelerated as I approached

my house. I ran towards the front door up the porch and dusted my feet on the mat. I

clutched unto the golden metallic door knob as I forcefully turned it.

As I stepped through the front door, something felt different. The usual

smell of dinner was absent and I knew something had changed. I ran to where I heard

my step dad was screaming. He was in the living room along with my neighbours

screaming in painful agony.

“Sita, you cannot leave me alone, not like this, why did leukemia have to

kill you? please stay with me!” he screamed. His voiced reverberated throughout the

room as he fell on his knees cupping my mother’s pale face in his hand. My mother was

on the ground unconscious out cold. The hairs on my neck raised and the feeling of fear

and horror slowly cascaded down my spine. I was shocked as electricity ran though my

body. My whole world went blank. Both of my parents were gone. All two of them. I

could not have process this at the moment. As such I ran pass my neighbours who

were trying to get hold of me. I ran and strolled up the stairs. With tears smitten on my

face I rushed with an eternal force towards my bedroom as I sank into the silkiness of

the sheets on my bed soaking it with salty tears. I hugged my pillow and pray to God. I
prayed as though my life depended on it. With all my hopes I wish I could have died

instead of my mother. Tears erupted form my eyes like a water fountain as many

thoughts ran through my imagination. I thought of my mother hugs and tugs as I laid

there. I remembered how she tugged at me when I was in pain. Then I felt someone

tugging at my shirt. I was praying to God that It could be my mother.

Unknowingly it was our pandit who held my held my hands behind my back

with an iron grip. I watched with tears in my eyes the many people who were staring at

my outburst. For once I didn’t feel embarrassed nor humiliated. I kicked and tugged to

break his grip. However, he was way too strong, he kept squeezing my hands which

radiated more pain throughout my body. I screamed and screamed as I was trying to

process everything at my mother’s funeral.