A futile apology

A short narrative.

 Slowly, carefully…I entered the room.

My heart pounded; emotions escalated; limbs trembled; what was I going to expect? The room was decorated with gaudy and bold shades of red wallpaper that maliciously smirked at me in revenge whenever I raised my head or got lost in a cloud of delusional thoughts. I hesitated to glance at the grandfather clock, which ticked in ponderous reminder. It emitted a slow and paced, monotonous sound that echoed and rebounded back onto the hollow walls - hollow and empty, lost out of life.

The atmosphere — musty and cold- wrapped me in a suffocating, heavy, inescapable trap; it enveloped me, it made me feel heavy — my chest felt uneasy.

The hefty and bulky teak furniture dominantly sat in place; heavy cotton curtains cascaded down onto the floor like a waterfall, blocking every inch of sunlight that hoped to enter the room through the window. In the corner of the room, there was a photograph stuck onto the wall. A small frame was displayed; it was bordered with intricate designs that were carved into wood and slightly, ever so slightly, brushed with a tint of gold. The photo was faded, nearly ripping apart and wrinkled, but, I could see it clearly through my eyes. Clearly, almost as though I had been gifted with a brand new pair of eyes — new, gleaming and fresh. She was clenching my tiny hands, smiling with the happiest smile I had ever seen, and directly looking into my bright blue eyes that shone into hers. Everything had disappeared. Every tiny detail in the photo had faded away with time. But, the only two figures that steadily survived were: grandma and I; grandma, with the happiest and adorable face ever.

I carefully turned around. A mammoth, antique chest of drawers stood beside me, with a towering and dominating presence. The wood was withered and worn out; it was as old as the years that had passed by. Nonsensical scribbles that were drawn using crayons had brutally destroyed the once perfect and flawless body of the drawer; tiny scratches, vandalism, barbie and Spiderman stickers…a nostalgic image shrouded me.

No! I could not do that. But I had to do it. A profusion of memories flooded into my mind and bounced back and forth. A damp and disintegrating smell of deteriorating paper rose from the drawer as I reluctantly opened it. Fumes circled around my face and danced around me like a spirit; the hairs on my skin stuck out bravely; my fingers clung onto the handle of the drawer — white fingertips.

I tentatively peered inside the shelf: huge, medium-sized and tiny pieces of paper; hearts, circles and squares; red, pink and yellow — a fruit salad. A variety of cards naughtily scattered themselves everywhere around the shelf; unidentifiable bits and bobs layered themselves over, under and in between enormous stacks of coffee—stained paper that was restricted inside a sea of folders. Unwillingly, I picked up a single card. An awfully luminous green card. On the top right end of the card, there was faded text. Pale, incomprehensible — except for the date that confidently stood out for recognition, ‘4th of April, 2007’ I read it, whilst looking at my grimaced face through the shiny, reflective sequins that scattered like pearls around the card. I sighed. My heart felt as hard as rock…tears drizzled down my cheeks. The little girl in the photograph that was stuck inside the frame with rose-pink cheeks winked and scoffed at me; I stared at her in disbelief of myself. Time had passed; I could only regret my actions. I trembled; I whispered to the thin, lifeless air that spookily circulated around me, ‘…I…love you…Grandma, I am…sorry.’

But it was too late.

• Written by Hanah Dilshad