Another month
Another year
Another decade
Another life always ending before its time
All life ends before its time
Even at 89.66 years of age, my father was too young to die, especially that he had been a great father from the beginning, no exception, exemplary, a good man, unlike my mother. But this short story is not about her. It is not about him either.
The foetus in the image above is just a prop. It is also not the topic of this piece. This story concerns a tiny part of a big tree. It can be a fruit or even a leaf. I picked it up from underneath a tree and looked at it. It is spring; I thought. What are you doing on the ground? You should be up there celebrating your new life. But I then realised that it was like me. We both lived in an eternal autumn, falling endlessly onto the ground, or the floor, or the catacomb of the mind, that is until death appears like winter or even spring.
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Paul McCartney & Wings - Another Day
About the Creator
Patrick M. Ohana
A medical writer who reads and writes fiction and some nonfiction, although the latter may appear at times like the former. Most of my pieces (over 2,200) are or will be available on Shakespeare's Shoes.
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Comments (1)
Many things to think from your story. Great!