(Inspired by a Czech Story)


The sky is dull grey, the color of a faded blob of ink on a white paper, and the last rays of the sun, weak and cold. A crowd of birds is fighting over a leftover piece of bread dropped by a child . Two people walk in the park- a man and a woman. The metal bench, dark green once, is now weather-beaten. They look at each other for a while and then look away.

“How are you?

“I will leave this summer” , she looks up. Her eyes, blue with a hint of grey, are pools of unexpressed sadness.

“As you wish.” Suddenly, he is abrupt, sullen, withdrawn.


“I hate to be misunderstood”, her voice is only a whisper but her eyes, tiny glints of ember.

Voices have their own feel.  Bright as spring, live as a waterfall. light as fresh snow, dull as fog! Some voices warm up your heart like a log of fire on a chilly night..

Hers is … spring, water, fog , fire , all!

“You want me to leave? Her voice trembles. She looks at him with a vain hope . Her upturned little rose, is now red at the tip. An unruly lock of brown hair has escaped and fallen on her face. The man is quiet.

“Watching someone go away is not a pretty sight”, he says as if with great reluctance. He sounds indifferent.

A pebble falls in the still pond , then circles and more concentric circles… and then silence once more.

She coughs,  she hasn’t got over it since she had that fever.

“You better visit your doctor tomorrow. Now, go home. Don’t tire yourself”. And, remember, anger is a bad advisor.

His eyes crinkle when he smiles. But it’ s dark now!












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