Short Story – The Children of Heaven
Photo credit: jeanniet6 from morguefile.com
The room was dusty and was the habitat of filthy rats and hungry cats. Air smelt of vomit and stale food; humid and hot; empty plates and cups were scattered around; darkness shrouded the building like a blanket.
The children, lying on the floor, were all covered in mud; wore scraps of clothes that had been used repeatedly and been discarded by the rich.
Every one of them had a past; a beautiful story to tell. Parents who loved them; family that cared. But within the blink of the eye, everything had been robbed away from them, and now here they were, grimy and hungry.
“Do you think Bhim‘d come today?” The youngest of all, Dev asked, his accent subtly saying that he was from south. His eyes were petrified, and they showed a deep knowledge; knowledge offered by the life he was living.
“I don’t know; but let’s pretend to sleep; maybe he’ll go then and won’t beat us.” Preet answered with a small frown.
“I want to go to mom; I remembered her cooking for me every day; I was a bad girl and ran away without eating.” Shilpa whispered as she hugged her grumbling stomach as if it’d prevent her from feeling hungry.
“My dad always bought me sweets when he returned from work. I want to go back too.” Another one complained.
“My Granma was the best cook; she always add different flavour too foods. I miss home.” A little girl in pigtails commented.
“I hate this place; this life. My mom always brought me to hospital when I fell down. Now look at my back.” One showed his back, which was covered by red marks from the whip. It was covered with blood and flesh, pulpy liquid flowing from them.
Their night was over as they reminisces about their old life; recollected their memories and shared their distress.
When the rusty door scratched open, everyone went silent, almost instantly; even the squeaking rats. There was a pin drop silence and the scrap of slippers could be heard very clearly.
The children huddled together; holding on to one another for strength; to bear what was coming next. Either onslaught of hungry whips or the angry words.
A big burly man with cat like eyes came inside the room and furrowed his brows as his eyes noticed the children. His large moustache twitched as he looked at them with utter disgust and fury.
God, they smell like cow sh*t!
“Are you ready to go? There is a festival in the nearby village!” The children nodded in fear and stayed still.
“Go. I said go.” He shouted with his harsh, croaky voice and watched with satisfaction as every little brats ran away like they were on fire.
The van with children stopped in front of the big ground; there were colourful stands selling toys and food. There were Ferris wheels and other rides.
“Go start the work; if you don’t earn 200 by the evening, I don’t know what I’d do. Understand brats?” Bhim yelled above the noise and pushed them one by one with a brutal force.
With longing eyes, they stared at the rides and the candy stores before passing through the crowd of people, their shoulders slumped in defeat.
As they begged for alms, there were faces turned away from them in revulsion; there were words scarring their young hearts further; there were derision.
“Go away young hooligan.” A woman pushed little Dev away from her, her nose upturned in the air.
He fell to the ground, hugging himself, and crying…
Crying… Not because of the big scratch in his knee covered with blood and sand… not because of the pain… but because he knew, if it was going to be like this, his friends and he would not get to eat… for days.
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