Gravure by Roland Cros

Gravure by Roland Cros

Once we installed ourselves in the back seats, the music started. Warda. My brother and I hated her. She was my mother’s favourite. I thought that she even imitated her outfit and made-up her face with the same colors. She never went out without make-up.

We were still savouring our cakes when my mother asked us to stop talking. She looked scared. She asked us to slip down in our seats in a way that our heads be unseen. She kept checking her front and rear mirrors. She said somebody was following us.

The car wandered the streets without a clear destination, and all that we could see from our back seats was my mother’s anxious eyes in the front mirror trying to find the culprit.

This entry was posted in English, Media. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s