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



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