WAR OF WORDS


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In the quiet morning, the sun was obscured by the floating clouds in the sky like sheets of doom, through which slight rays of hope penetrated and reached the dark courtyard of their house, illuminating it a little, but leaving much unseen, ignored. The day had just begun, fresh it was, untouched by the soring abrasions of the day, yet Shona could feel the decayed remnants in her heart, which had now spread to her mind like cancer. She sat in her chair in the veranda, collapsed against its back, making an attempt to gather the last vestiges of energy in her and wake up their daughter, but the quietness in the morning only seemed to convey a sense of utter quietness, a sense that it was too early for such an act, invoking her to wait for a few moments, moments, which she realized have culminated to be more…

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