@wakeupkitty 21 March 2024 more from that month

The True Story - Moving House - Realism

**What are you looking at father?** The old man sat in his chair in front of the window He watched the procession of people in silence. She carefully placed the samovar on the table It was old and battered A gift once received from her mother. Come on, father, have a drink He pointed outside with his cane Look at them! What a bunch of pack mules. She took a sip of the warm liquid that had little resemblance to tea She had given him the last tea, there was nothing left Come on, father, she insisted again. This time he took the hot drink The warmth of the cup soothed his cold aching hands After all these years, the cold shouldn't bother him, but to cold, just like hunger one never gets used. Where are they heading to father, is something wrong? It's nothing, maybe there's a flea market or a festival Nothing to worry about my dear. Suddenly the radio crackled out of nowhere There had been no sound from it for years Since the volume knob broke off. He had fought for freedom for too long He was tired, exhausted All he wanted was peace to return. Peace for her and mother Russia It was not the first battle The Ottomans attacked for no less than the tenth time. She was kind-hearted though not the smartest Slowly she arose She had become an elder too. Where are you going? I want to take a look outside, she stuttered The old man had surprised her with his question. Stay! His voice cracked Startled, she sat down again Stay love, it's too cold and it's dangerous outside. Take it, it's for you His hand held a piece of paper containing some brown sugar candy He had saved it for a special occasion. The rock candy shone just like her eyes He pressed the valuables into her hand Nodding encouragingly, she then put it in her mouth.

With the embroidered pillow on her lap, she sat Together they looked outside through the crack of the curtains Maybe there is a circus, she said happily while sucking on the sugar candy. Slowly the street became empty The sunset red coloured the world outside The old man kept an eye on everything unabated. When night arrived he stood at the window It was dark, there was no moon, not even a star to be The soldier once on guard had indeed disappeared. It snowed the entire next day Large flakes fell They've forgotten about us, he thought. A blanket of snow covered the landscape Suddenly it was quiet, not a single gunshot broke the silence There were no more people on the road. The war, the violence was over It was difficult to comprehend He breathed a sigh of relief, it was time to sleep. The invaders had been driven out Come on love, it's time to leave Delighted, she wrapped their items into the tablecloth. Wearing three layers of clothing on top of each other Where was the samovar? He smiled at the woman who was his life. One more stayover in the house that had protected them It was time to move, away from the threats of the city Delighted, she stepped outside into the snowy landscape it was the first time in months. Mother Russia looked lovely, dressed in white The couple slowly walked out of the wrecked city He with his cane and she with their belongings. Look, father, a little dog, can I keep him? He nodded, he couldn't deny her anything She had saved his life more than once What are you going to call him?

`Header: Canva` `Painting: public domain` `Painter: Viktor Mijálovich Vasnetsov` `6-3-2024` `I am a mobile phone user only` #creativewriting #art #review #kittywu #story