Friday, 11 September 2015


  Prior to you, father, prior to this, there was silence and to silence we now return.

  Jenna said it out loud. Her words echoed in the empty room. It was real, it was done, really done, all of it. Both of them were dead and buried - father and son - in graves alongside each other with only the wind whispering ‘agony’. But she was alive, strange and wrong as it may seem. Her pain buried for good in this godforsaken place on the Belgian border.

  Jenna’s eyes took in the familiar view from the window, the cattle grazing lazily, the meadow laced with a budding corn field. The May sun reflecting on the red rooftops at the end of her estate. It was a matter of hours before she would hand the keys to the next owners. A sigh escaped her flat bosom. From his basket in the corner, Mauritius replied with an even bigger dog’s sigh. A smile stole over the young woman’s delicate features. They were such a team.

  Suddenly, the silhouette of her grandfather loomed up, a wide-legged, weather-beaten farmer scanning his lands. He turned to face her and waved, cap in hand, his grey hair ruffled by the soft breeze. An index finger crooked from arthritis pointed to the V-tailed swallow that skimmed deftly over his head. She nodded, showing she understood. A swallow flying low meant rain tomorrow. She had farmer’s blood too. But when she blinked, Grandpa was gone. What a dreamer she was, born with the gift! It had brought her so much but in the end left her without bloodlines.

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