heavy reading
this story left me kinda depressed.
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The Greying
The pain came back last night. Not that it had really left him, the deep ache that began at his lower back and ran down the back of his legs which had been his constant companion for years. It ebbed and flowed like a perverse tide that, while gnawing repeatedly at his body, had also eroded his psyche to the extent that, on days when the pain was severe, he dreaded even the simplest of movement.
Each step was a challenge, even with the walking stick he clutched unsteadily in his right hand. He would shuffle, his sandals dragging over the ground noisily. Walking down the corridor to the lift usually takes a whole ten minutes, even though it was only four houses away. If the pain didn't get him, the difficulty breathing he experienced would.
He sat at the small fold-able table in the tiny kitchen of his one-room rented flat and ate his breakfast. A lukewarm cup of coffee and a slice of stale bread. The instant coffee was a gift from his next door neighbor, another old man like himself, but with nice children who brings him stuff and visits on weekends. He liked the coffee and had tried to make it last.
Outside it was raining. It was unusual this time of year to rain so often. It seemed even the weather was out to get him. The sudden change made his joints ache like the devil was chewing on them. The knees were particularly bad. It got so painful sometimes he cried.
He reached over to the small Tupperware box sitting on the corner of the table and removed the cover. He examined the contents - no, not quite yet, he thought, but soon, yes, soon. Carefully he snapped the cover on and replaced the box.
Bracing himself, he got slowly to his feet. The first step up was always the worst. The pain and stiffness in the knees, made worse by his sitting down took a full half minute to dissipate. Gingerly he took a small step forward, the walking stick shaking with his effort to balance his weight. Twenty minutes later he was waiting for the lift.
The doctor he saw this time was more generous. Ten, instead of the five he was given by the other one down the street. He paid the $4.70 in coins, counting them out carefully and ignoring the glare the clinic assistant was giving him. Once again he silently gave thanks for the medical scheme that allowed people like him to consult neighborhood GPs and pay as they would at the government polyclinics.
Walking home, he took his time. The pavement was crowded with children making their way to school, chattering and chirping like so many birds. He was almost ran over by an inconsiderate idiot who decided that riding a bicycle through the mass of people was a good idea.
He dug into his shorts pocket for his door key. Just then he heard a cheerful greeting, a blend of two child voices that called to him. His immediate neighbor, a family of four, were on their way out. The man smiled at his two oh-so-polite little girls, while his wife, a petite woman with a figure like a teen-aged girl's, nodded her head in greeting.
He was suddenly reminded of his daughter, the youngest and only one of his six children who still visited him, but only once a month. She was always busy, her job as a factory supervisor working the night shift on top of being mother to three sons taking its toll. She had to work, her husband's school bus driving job not enough to support the family.
She used to give him money, small amounts that she could managed, and occasionally, would arrive with canned food or instant noodles. Recently she was having some difficulties and he saw less and less of her. He called a few times but she was always too busy to talk.
His sons stopped talking to him years ago. He remembered it was over some issue of money, which he used to send back to some of his relatives in China. Rather than giving it to them, or so they argued. No matter how he explained himself, they just wouldn't understand. The last of them left the house five years ago, moved away without telling him where he was going, the youngest of his sons, still unmarried. None of them had ever visited him since.
The tiny one-room flat felt stifling in the warm afternoon. He had left the kitchen window open and the floor was wet with raindrops. He made it to the chair and sat down heavily, his chest heaving with the effort. His knees were screaming in pain. Reaching, he poured himself a glass of water and drank slowly. Gradually the pain subsided sufficiently for him to continue.
He boiled water on the stove, just enough for a cup of coffee. The precious bottle of Nescafe he placed on the center of the table. When the water was ready, he scooped two huge spoonfuls into his glass, added the steaming water and sat down to stir. He added sugar and the last of his tinned condensed milk. The aroma was heavenly to him.
The Tupperware box sat where he always placed it. When he finished the coffee, he opened the plastic container. Inside were pills, tablets and capsules of different colors and sizes, ponderously collected over the last three months, all sleeping 'pills' of some sort. To them he added the ten light blue tablets he was just given. A rough estimate told him that he had enough. Thirty should do the job, shouldn't they?
For a while he sat quietly in the kitchen. He desperately wanted another cup of coffee, but he was suddenly thinking of his late wife, gone ten years ago, thankfully without knowing about their unfilial sons. She used to tell him how lucky they were to have so many children, as their later years would be well provided for. What would she think now, if she knew?
Slowly he got to his feet, gripping the table tightly for a minute before he could move. With the Tupperware box under one arm, he shifted his walking stick and headed for his bedroom. The bottle of mineral water was on the floor beside the thin mattress on which he slept, where he had placed it a few days ago.
Propping himself up with the pillow leaning against the wall, he twisted the bottle cap and opened the plastic box.
----------
The Greying
The pain came back last night. Not that it had really left him, the deep ache that began at his lower back and ran down the back of his legs which had been his constant companion for years. It ebbed and flowed like a perverse tide that, while gnawing repeatedly at his body, had also eroded his psyche to the extent that, on days when the pain was severe, he dreaded even the simplest of movement.
Each step was a challenge, even with the walking stick he clutched unsteadily in his right hand. He would shuffle, his sandals dragging over the ground noisily. Walking down the corridor to the lift usually takes a whole ten minutes, even though it was only four houses away. If the pain didn't get him, the difficulty breathing he experienced would.
He sat at the small fold-able table in the tiny kitchen of his one-room rented flat and ate his breakfast. A lukewarm cup of coffee and a slice of stale bread. The instant coffee was a gift from his next door neighbor, another old man like himself, but with nice children who brings him stuff and visits on weekends. He liked the coffee and had tried to make it last.
Outside it was raining. It was unusual this time of year to rain so often. It seemed even the weather was out to get him. The sudden change made his joints ache like the devil was chewing on them. The knees were particularly bad. It got so painful sometimes he cried.
He reached over to the small Tupperware box sitting on the corner of the table and removed the cover. He examined the contents - no, not quite yet, he thought, but soon, yes, soon. Carefully he snapped the cover on and replaced the box.
Bracing himself, he got slowly to his feet. The first step up was always the worst. The pain and stiffness in the knees, made worse by his sitting down took a full half minute to dissipate. Gingerly he took a small step forward, the walking stick shaking with his effort to balance his weight. Twenty minutes later he was waiting for the lift.
The doctor he saw this time was more generous. Ten, instead of the five he was given by the other one down the street. He paid the $4.70 in coins, counting them out carefully and ignoring the glare the clinic assistant was giving him. Once again he silently gave thanks for the medical scheme that allowed people like him to consult neighborhood GPs and pay as they would at the government polyclinics.
Walking home, he took his time. The pavement was crowded with children making their way to school, chattering and chirping like so many birds. He was almost ran over by an inconsiderate idiot who decided that riding a bicycle through the mass of people was a good idea.
He dug into his shorts pocket for his door key. Just then he heard a cheerful greeting, a blend of two child voices that called to him. His immediate neighbor, a family of four, were on their way out. The man smiled at his two oh-so-polite little girls, while his wife, a petite woman with a figure like a teen-aged girl's, nodded her head in greeting.
He was suddenly reminded of his daughter, the youngest and only one of his six children who still visited him, but only once a month. She was always busy, her job as a factory supervisor working the night shift on top of being mother to three sons taking its toll. She had to work, her husband's school bus driving job not enough to support the family.
She used to give him money, small amounts that she could managed, and occasionally, would arrive with canned food or instant noodles. Recently she was having some difficulties and he saw less and less of her. He called a few times but she was always too busy to talk.
His sons stopped talking to him years ago. He remembered it was over some issue of money, which he used to send back to some of his relatives in China. Rather than giving it to them, or so they argued. No matter how he explained himself, they just wouldn't understand. The last of them left the house five years ago, moved away without telling him where he was going, the youngest of his sons, still unmarried. None of them had ever visited him since.
The tiny one-room flat felt stifling in the warm afternoon. He had left the kitchen window open and the floor was wet with raindrops. He made it to the chair and sat down heavily, his chest heaving with the effort. His knees were screaming in pain. Reaching, he poured himself a glass of water and drank slowly. Gradually the pain subsided sufficiently for him to continue.
He boiled water on the stove, just enough for a cup of coffee. The precious bottle of Nescafe he placed on the center of the table. When the water was ready, he scooped two huge spoonfuls into his glass, added the steaming water and sat down to stir. He added sugar and the last of his tinned condensed milk. The aroma was heavenly to him.
The Tupperware box sat where he always placed it. When he finished the coffee, he opened the plastic container. Inside were pills, tablets and capsules of different colors and sizes, ponderously collected over the last three months, all sleeping 'pills' of some sort. To them he added the ten light blue tablets he was just given. A rough estimate told him that he had enough. Thirty should do the job, shouldn't they?
For a while he sat quietly in the kitchen. He desperately wanted another cup of coffee, but he was suddenly thinking of his late wife, gone ten years ago, thankfully without knowing about their unfilial sons. She used to tell him how lucky they were to have so many children, as their later years would be well provided for. What would she think now, if she knew?
Slowly he got to his feet, gripping the table tightly for a minute before he could move. With the Tupperware box under one arm, he shifted his walking stick and headed for his bedroom. The bottle of mineral water was on the floor beside the thin mattress on which he slept, where he had placed it a few days ago.
Propping himself up with the pillow leaning against the wall, he twisted the bottle cap and opened the plastic box.
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