Timsal Fatima
The purple flower had gone brown. The grave might have done something to it. I had forgotten that this grave existed in my backyard until a friend, who had come to visit me after years, reminded me of it. My memory was decaying, just like my age. I did not want to get reminded of that grave. I used to walk barefooted in my backyard to see the grave, after the sun had gone down. I used to remember her blotched feet peeking out the edge of hospice bed. I don’t anymore. The grave might have done something to me.
The writer is a student of English Literature at GC University, Lahore and can be reached at: timsalfatima27@gmail.com
