Crumble Life

After the day’s hard work I returned to my hut. In the corner slept my 9-year-old daughter, abused recently by rich boys. My fisherman husband had strayed far into the sea. Hungry I walked to the corner of the hut. There was a tomato and two slices of stale bread. I made a soup. The bread, I broke it down to crumbs. Counting one for one suffered sorrow, I drowned it in the soup. I and my girl sipped it as long as possible, in silence, wishing all the sorrows would drown the same way in this crumb of life.

From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore