The hour hand of the grey clock on the white wall was rushing every second.
On one side, the forlorn newspaper was waiting for its daily ordeal, on the other, the medicine strip shouted effrontarily for discipline.
Meera was cursing her decision to send her only daughter, Bhakti away on a ‘revelation’ tour around the world.
Then, Bhakti was in grief, having contested her mother’s autocratic diktat, she had to accept it reluctantly later.
Meera changed her side on the bed, and so had the grief.
|Grief – No borders, No Sides|
This post is author’s entry to Five Sentence Fiction.
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