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ClXtYwGWgAAJhJXAdorned by yellow flowers and fluttering butterflies, spring stayed in my garden forever. The tall, dark green trees stood swaying in the breeze. And beyond them, the snow-covered, lofty mountains stretched in all directions, as if fostering some ethereal secret. Above everything and beyond everything there was the vast, clear blue sky which spread like a doting bird hiding her babies under her wings. Late evening sun glinted through the open floor to ceiling windows. The pretty, pink curtains were drawn aside for I loved to dream while watching this august wonder with open-eyed awe. A bird soared towards the horizon. A butterfly with golden wings fluttered by my window. Trees whooshed in the breeze. And there was a knock on our door.

Thud.
My head jerked up.
Thud.
Someone’s rushing up the stairs.
Thud.
My door flung open.
It’s my mother, my sweet mother, my jaded mother, dragging my brother up the stairs with an astounding fervour.
My brother, aloof, offhand, ‘Its okay, mom. I am alright. Everything’s alright mom.’
You know big bro, it’s a callous legacy. And we are brittle souls.
It’s a whiff of red. And we are tainted hues.
It’s alright to be scared sometimes. It’s alright. You will still be our hero.
Our attic, eerie and forlorn, hid my bro from the brutes at our door.
He kept pleading. He was dumb to us. We were deaf to him.
We closed the windows tightly. And spread the curtains on every iota of the frigid, naked glass.
I looked up at my mom. And winced at the fear in her eyes and the resolution on her lips.
Not my mom, you brutes at our door.
Not my mom, I beseech with my eyes.
They kicked. And they abused.
We stood. And we stared.
They shrieked. And they smacked.
We stood. And we stared.
I bore my imploring eyes into our bare walls and ancient door.
Don’t give in. Please don’t give in.

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