Previous Challenge Entry
Topic: TEARS - (as in crying) (10/04/04)
|
TITLE: Angels Can Cry By Blantina Jones 10/08/04 |
 LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
SEND ARTICLE TO A FRIEND
|
Fatima’s attention turned back to the little critter. She sniffled as she wiped her runny nose with a muddy hand, soiling a gold lock of hair that dangled over her rosy-cheeked face. The insect made its way over the last little clump of dirt and landed near her bare foot. This time she allowed it to explore its surroundings. A cascade of mussed curls dangled from the nape of her neck sweeping the ground as she squatted and leaned forward to peer beneath the torn, laced fringe of her dress. Her curious big brown eyes fascinated with curiosity.
The warm sun that had felt so good against her back now shyly peeked from behind the mountains and her chin trembled. She guided her friend to a stalk where a few green leaves and berries clung. Hunger pains returned as she caressed the inviting red berries which her mother had warned her about. “They are poisonous and if you eat them you will die like your friend, Rosa” she had said. But she was hungry and Rosa had not eaten any berries.
Rosa was Fatima’s best friend. She was as beautiful as she was kind. Her skin was like porcelain and she wore her long dark hair in a beautiful braid. Rosa always had a sweet to share with her much younger friend. After Rosa became ill she hardly came out anymore. Fatima would sit on her door step for hours hoping to see her. When she did, she would run over and visit with her friend even if it meant a scolding and a rub down with alcohol afterwards. Fatima’s mother didn’t want her catching what Rosa had. Too many children were dying.
Fatima didn’t understand why no one wanted to die. She wanted to die so she could go to heaven and be with Jesus. And now her friend Rosa was there too. Fatima had tagged behind her brother and sister one day when they went outdoors to pick wild flowers. That’s when she found out they were for Rosa -- so she picked the prettiest ones she could find.
Rosa’s home was filled with the fragrance of wild flowers and roses. Fatima looked at her friend who just appeared to be sleeping peacefully. She was dressed in a white satin dress that shimmered and sparkled. A crown fashioned of white Bouvardia blossoms and Baby’s Breath adorned her brow. Seeing her there on a bed of creamy white roses made her look angelic and Fatima was convinced now that Rosa had been an angel all the while.
Fatima carried the flowers in the long funeral procession to the cemetery. The men wore a black arm band and the women were dressed all in black. Their heads covered with a shawl or scarf - mourning colors that would never come off. Fatima suddenly realized she was in the midst of the black cloud she had often seen passing her door. Her young legs began to cramp and she wished her mother would pick her up just this time, but she didn’t ask. The last time she did, she was told she was a big girl now. After prayers, they lowered Rosa’s casket into a vault and slid a heavy marble slab over it. That was the first time Fatima remembered ever crying. She returned to visit Rosa’s grave often and loved to look at her picture mounted on the beautiful polished marble head stone.
Fatima heard her mother calling. It would be dark soon and they had yet a long way home. Fatima’s mom helped her onto the over filled cart, next to her sister and brother. Her mother would walk along a side the oxen. Fatima watched the fields get farther and farther away. She laid back against the wheat and looking up at the sky imagined Rosa smiling down at her and wondered, if in heaven, angels can cry.