The Skies Are Lighted With Lamps #17 (A part of my novel)

 

Merry, Toney’s wife, was busy putting up the last of the curtains in the dining room.  Humming a tune to herself, her smooth hands worked like that of a surgeon.

Jason, their sixteen year old son, held a stick in one hand and a small dull Swiss knife in the next.

He held the knife firmly in his hand, its handle wrapped with a piece of cloth.  The knife, his father had given to him as a present, over five years ago.  Occasionally he brought the two together, scraping the blade against the wood and blowing off the dust that gathered on his hands.

Copyright © 2017 David Alexian

All rights reserved.

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The Skies Are Lighted With Lamps #12 (A part of my novel)

He cocked his head to the side, surveying the room.  Placing his elbows on the table, he exhaled.

He had always longed for his freedom to be with his family, but now, he felt as though the distance they had was what his family needed.  His thoughts raced.  Much the same as the night he was taken away.  He wanted to get away from them.  Thinking, maybe it was a wrong idea to be let go from a secured place.  A place he had control over.  Perhaps the judge was wrong and that he was not a rehabilitated man.  At that moment, he wanted to return to Centenery.  To the place where he hid behind stone walls and prayer someone his life will end.  But even behind bars, new travelled fast.  And without saying a word, it was understood that Deo Narine was to be touched by no one.

Copyright © 2017 David Alexian

All rights reserved.

The Skies Are Lighted With Lamps #11 (A part of my novel)

As Deo sat in the kitchen, his mind tried to make sense of what his sight beheld.  The table in front of him seemed different to when he sat there the last time.  It appeared bigger.  Probably because of the size, when compared to the one he had in his prison cell.  Either way, it felt strange.  The six chairs around the table were worn and unsteady; their previous light brown colour had now taken on a dark grayish shade, lightened by the constant scrubbing and polishing.  From where he sat, he saw the kitchen sink propped up with two pieces of wood.  Wood Shelly must have fastened to keep the tattered stand from crumbling to the floor.  The kerosene stove was blackened and choked by the soot.  A shade highlighted on the few cooking pots, hanging from four inch nails, driven into the wooden wall.

 

Copyright © 2017 David Alexian

All rights reserved.

The Skies Are Lighted With Lamps #10 (A part of my novel)

About one hour had passed so far.  The time though seemed longer.  In a cage, time goes slowly.  He became used to this.  But just sitting there in the kitchen, Deo began to feel time itself had stopped.  Although he was in his house, he felt as though he was invisible to the home.  The white and gray striped shirt and khaki three quarter pants was all he came home with.  This suit was one of the best he had acquired, keeping clean and worn only on special occasions.  Out here, it is just cloths.  Cloths if sold could purchase maybe a cigarette or a drink of rum and nothing else.  On the islet, men could lose their life for accidentally staining possessions like these.

 

Copyright © 2017 David Alexian

All rights reserved.

The Skies Are Lighted With Lamps #9 (A part of my novel)

The evening was serene.  Deo now said just about three words to his wife, since walking through the door.  The children were quiet too, as if trying to make adjustments in their thinking.  Questions no doubt needed to be answered.  But who was going to start?  Was this even the right time for questions?  At least one thing was certain, there was a man named Deo Narine in the house that night.  Tomorrow, the village will have the chance to meet him.  For men like Deo, probably word was already being spread in the village.

 

Copyright © 2017 David Alexian

All rights reserved.

The Skies Are Lighted With Lamps #3 (A part of my novel)

Weddings are golden moments.  They bring joy, an uneasy anticipation by all involved.  On the other hand, funerals are the total opposite.  Screeching groans; moans from a beaten weary crowd.  Seeking answers and bellowing the lost of a friend.   Tonight it was a cross between the two; a wedding and a funeral.  It was the return of Shelly’s husband Deo Narine, to not only his family but to the village. ……….

 

Copyright © 2017 David Alexian

All rights reserved.