The heat of a gas stove radiated. Not from the fireplace where an ash heap laid with a bent fork resting in the dark of the arch’s pit. Striking through, the sunlight rose over the garden fence that surrounded the rectangular field sloping downhill, alleviating the regular hint of urban claustrophobia. Overlooking, on a slight hill, the town that was close by below, it seemed immodest. But once one had visited such a place, they would come to understand that it was the humblest of abodes. Blessed by rays which pierced past branches and stripped shadows into stripes, weaving along the wooden flooring, the house was filled by the scent of morning cooking. Of sweet vegetables and the fragrance of tea, between it all was a mother’s pair of hands pouring good filling portions of soup for two. The convection currents cycled through the chopped spring onions, white cabbage and radish, as bowls were placed onto trays with a plate of cured fish each. Dried and salted, they were cut into thin filets. It was all simple in looks, but it produced an aroma fresh and reminiscent of a coastal home. While footsteps rushed about overhead, its stomps were dampened by the sounds of cutlery and dishes clanking in the sink. Given a quick scrub each by a father and then washed under water, the set that he had cleaned were rested on a rack before he flicked dry and wiped on his trousers his rough soldier’s hands. Patting down his suit that was dressed under a gray overcoat, the man straightened his tie and picked up his work bag with calm haste. He pulled back his hair and fixed his glasses, making his way to the front door with an automobile key in hand. The family had already grown accustomed to his constant work and showed no surprise to any last minute remarks.
“I should be back by next week’s end.” Passing by, the father patted Elise by her head, sitting by patiently at the dining table.
With a wife from the orient, who appeared not a year older than her youth, brought the trays over to the table and set one in front of Elise and another beside her. “Have a safe trip.” The mother blessed her husband, undoing her apron that was tossed over the spine of a chair.
The man who often portrayed a neutral demeanor was often in an attire for business. Walking, with a resolve, over to the lobby, he took a step down before slipping into a pair of dress shoes with a shoe horn. When the tap of the second floor bathroom shut, from running water to trickling drops, he looked up and heard, racing along the corridor, the sound of a boy who nearly tripped hurrying down the stairs, quick-paced and light-footed. Ever more energetic than he was a few minutes ago, he swung around the stairs behind his father who turned back and looked at his children both, settling down for breakfast with one who had just tucked in his chair, and his wife who patted the television and adjusted its antennas. Pushing on the rim of his glasses, the man returned on his journey and unlocked the front door, stepping out onto the front yard. A gust brushed by, and the door closed quietly.
In a last attempt to work the television, the siblings’ mother gave a firm slap on the box and the screen finally colorized when a channel had been detected. Steps revolved around the corner of the house to the slam of a car’s door, and the rumble of the engine roared ahead of the clacks of an old gearbox. Away, the wheels spun out of the driveway, squealing, and within the house, the static buzz of the television set began to produce recognizable sounds. The audio was still fuzzy and its display was calibrating. But an image soon showed, telling of a morning news broadcast.
Eight in the morning…live now with breaking news…it has been confirmed with the studio… The news anchor sounded incoherent, as the signal continued to boot up.
The mother returned to her everyday chore of cleaning as her children tapped their feet on the ground with a carefree rhythm. One was politely eating, in a civilized manner too, whilst another was gulping down his soup as if he had been starved for a week.
His Eternal Excellency, Sean Kennedy, the Liberator, Father of the Revolution, and the former President of the Thirteen States, was pronounced dead at the Royal Alber Hospital in Luning, on the seventh hour, at the age of ninety-seven. At the station, shaken by the news with nothing rustling in the background, the lady in a gray suit informed, professionally, without a change in her tone.
The pixels faltered on the edges and the information from that morning broadcast had stopped the mother to listen. Although her children were disengaged and perhaps detached from the historic situation, they were not ignorant, as they took the news like any other normal happening.
The official cause of death was ruled to be cyanide poisoning, leading many to believe it an assassination. Addressing the nation, the anchor kept her hands on the table. Our correspondent is at the scene of the… Her words gradually faded into ambience.
The shaking of their mother’s head was clear telling of the significance of what had happened, but she returned to her chores nonetheless. Their world had suddenly gone silent, remorseful that nothing could have been done for the poor man at the end of his natural journey anyways. As the correspondent spoke with the crew at the scene, the sirens lit behind them with blues and reds. Not a word entered their ears who bothered not with the occurring history before their eyes. The siblings sipped up the last drops of soup and finished their breakfast each. Settling down their bowls, they leapt off their seats together and tucked them in before kindly bringing the trays to the sink. But both must hurry, wiping their mouths with their sleeves, they picked up their schoolbags and cornered the table at a speed so immense that they could barely stay on balance. As if racing against each other, the two ran for the front door, near bumping into furniture and walls. Dashing behind one another, wrapping their scarves around their necks, Elise and her brother slid onto the step and sat together. The girl wore her shoe nimbly and was ready in seconds to rise again whilst the boy was still fussing over the laces of his boots at the top of his shins. Unable to wait any longer, Elise opened the door and skipped outside, from where the outdoors blasted a feed of brisk wind that almost ripped the door from its hinges. Entering in masses, the air waved through the brother’s fluttering hair.
His eyes narrowed from the sudden cold as he stood and stepped onto the threshold of the door before briefly turning back. “Gochi hei yo! (We’re off!)” In his sister’s stead, the boy yelled over the louder wind.
Swinging his bag over a shoulder, with the rattling of electronics within, it slouched from the weight it carried as he wore his flat cap tightly. Exited from his haven and entered into the outdoors he went. Plates clanked from the kitchen behind and the dishes were done being cleaned, with few remaining chores left to complete. Wiping her hands on a towel, their mother leaned over and peered past the doorway into the lobby, hoping to catch a glimpse of their faces.
“Shōshin ko marō ya— (Take care—)” She replied with a smile.
Paused on her ending word, she had realized she was not heard. The door had already closed and the two had gone. At peace, alone, she knew to enjoy and endure the last years of care before her children would go separate ways. That was the art of caring for so long, that she had not realized until those years were soon ending. Returning to the living room, with a brush in hand, she dusted the couch and the piano by the garden’s glass door, and would complete the cleaning and chores alongside her packing in preparing for work in the later morning. That was the routine of her every day, on repeat thus far. There was something calming about it that she would never complain against.
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