The Sunset
Fiction
The dusky sky , orange hue with yellowish pink swirls in it like some artist had hurriedly spilled the paints in an attempt to create a masterpiece, the clouds forming a kaleidoscope of different shapes and a solo kite flying across it.
The little boy standing there struggled to control the kite threatening to fly away with the wind. On the roof of the big house stood the old cat lady staring away into the void , persistent to avoid any form of eye contact.
The boy gave up on the kite and looked at the old woman with a hint of smile on his face, his facial expression clearly giving away that he had expected her to smile back. Nothing. Just a stare. Not condescending but a hard to read stare.
The little boy shrugged and proceeded to move downstairs. It had already been past his playtime and he had schoolwork to complete.
Jess had been a writer by profession . She insisted on being called that. Her once alive mother had never failed to remind her that it was not a “real job” during her lifetime. Now at seventy, with a snow white head with a few strands of the fiery red that her hair had once been,she stood on the rooftop reminiscing and remembering , trying to find something to write about.
The idea of penning down words in her now shaky old school cursive handwriting didn’t daunt her . She forgot sometimes what she had started writing and what it ended up becoming .
The eccentricity of her colourful vibrant outfits in her sophisticated neighborhood always seemed to draw attention to her. They called her the old cat lady . Well , she thought not marrying and owning a few cats does not make one a cat lady but she knew better than to argue with her neighbours whom she hardly even acknowledged.
Why was she there again at the rooftop? She questioned herself.
Oh ! She had come to find something to write about.
She had come to watch the sunset today and imbue it with some meanings , some feelings. No one usually came out to their rooftops on sunsets anymore . Apparently, they had a lot more to do and how was it even productive? Some people questioned .
A little brown haired boy had been standing on the rooftop of the house just opposite to hers ,attempting to fly a kite. Well, she thought these children have so many things to dream of , so many new experiences to enjoy. She was musing about whether she would write about the “ Opportunities of Success that Human Beings Have As A Child”. No! Too common, she thought. A little too self help-ish like the new generation seemed to love , she thought.
She forgot nowadays quite easily . Was it her age? Or was it her lack of human interaction ? She didn’t know.
She looked again at the boy , sparkling eyes with a streak to succeed in life , a desire to conquer and experience world. Was she too like this once without a care about the world?
The last time she had a conversation was when she had gone to the grocery store down the street . Nothing much , just the polite salesman customer talk. She sighed .
The child had looked at her smiling expectantly, waiting for her to return the gesture but she was deep in thought trying to remember the last time she had been genuinely smiled at. She stood there and stared at the little boy so eager to smile at people without any ulterior motive. Well, you don’t find a lot of people doing that nowadays, do you?
The idea struck her. She would write about the boy and his smile . Its innocence and kindness which he had shown completely unknowingly. It was her first human interaction in several weeks now.
She didn’t have to think twice. Scrambling downstairs hurriedly for she forgot fast nowadays, she went to grab her notepad and started writing about the kindness he had shown quite unknowingly. She wrote a line or two and lost vision of what she was writing about. A boy and something about a smile. It seemed confusing now ! What was it again? She didn’t know, couldn’t remember. She was too old now, she thought. Disappointed with herself, she slumped back in the chair and tried to remind herself of what that was she was writing about.
