We Are Humans
“You children” muttered my mother darkly as she took out a mop and began to clean up the spilt water, “always rool up everything.”
To be honest, no matter how many times she said it I never knew what ‘rool up’ meant. I always thought it to be a blend of the words ‘ruin’ and ‘screw up’ or something of the sort. But we never would question her; she had always been rather touchy about us questioning her English.
My mother was a fierce woman; regardless of how old she is now she still is a frightening creature and probably has more fire and gusto than before. “In my childhood, I has to work hard unlike you children. Always lazy.” She would say in her defence.
We wouldn’t argue with her then and allowed her to go along with her ways. Often she would be found sitting in front of the television, sometimes darning or knitting with hands gnarled and calloused from when she was younger. Sometimes I’d end up examining my own hands before quickly turning to her when she snorted or commented about the shows she watched with the children. “Dem people. Always say we dun care about animals. Animals dun care ‘bout other animals too why should we?” she’d never ask the children to change it though and continued to watch whilst she continued patching up her socks.
My mother still was insistent about doing her own work and living in her own house, perhaps refusing to believe she needed help of any sort. We have given up trying to persuade her into moving in with us long ago with her firm statements that she was perfectly capable of managing everything herself thank you very much. Though there were times when she would mumble hotly about how we rarely offered her our help with household duties and when we do weed the garden or go up onto the roof and do something to make her television work she would then hover around us and said we were not mowing the lawn correctly before muttering how she wouldn’t dream about living with us what with the way our garden looked.
She had a beautiful garden though. Her pride and joy. The gr*censored* was lined with rows of lantanas and hibiscuses. Her orchids, morning glories and hyacinths hung above her windows, their vines delicately draped over like a curtain of pinks, purples and blues. A large pot of anthuriums nestled in the corner flourishing with red flowers while birds of paradise bowed gently in the wind. In the morning the garden was often thick with scents of the flowers, the dew-sodden gra s s and nostalgia. At the back of the house was a small garden where she would plant some vegetables from time to time and a rundown chicken coop. Beside it a large old tree leaned daringly against the fence, its bark as gnarled as she was. It had been there maybe a year or two after I was born and no matter how old it was it continued to bear a bountiful harvest every year.
But not too long ago I visited my mother again, there had been a storm and I had been worried about her. Upon seeing her house I was appalled to see the sight. The flowers had wilted, beaten down by the rain and wind. The tree had fell down and laid on top of the broken remains of her fence, its ancient roots hung high in the air and its branches snapped and twisted. I saw my mother beside her garden, uprooting the dead plants with her lips pursed grimly. We parked the car, sat down inside and I was surprised that she quietly agreed to stay with us for a while. She sighed and shook her head, “Your father was right. Should have removed tree long ago. Now even your garden look better than mine.” She stood up slowly and stretched, “Come kids. Stop being lazy and help your grandmother. Do you good not sitting inside with the television.” About then I realised she still seemed firm about remaining in her house and tried to stop her. I feared another storm or another accident would occur. She snorted again, “People always rool up. See? Dem gods up there all angry with us again because humans always rool things up.” She followed the kids outside, “but cannot escape. Even though humans always rool things up we also can fix dem again.”
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Could you spy Raru's opinion about extreme animal rights activists?
Stop killing chickens pls :D
Written this because always wanted to use the word 'rool up'. My mother would probably kill me if she found out though xD
I haven't edited this yet so it might not flow nicely and have several errors. Probably never will because I did this just because a)I wanted to prove to myself I can finish something if I try hard enough and b) I like short stories. They're harder to do than novels in my opinion. Also if I did edit this much of the text would be gone because personal things (like the tree) of my own somehow crept into this and I didn't really like that. Feels creepy reading it.
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