Sand in my Fist's Stories

Promises

He waited for the warmth of her laughter to come to him. The girl who stepped out of the bus and watched him from a distance had gone. She reminded him of her somehow. The eyes, smiling and grim at the same time. For a moment he thought it was Mita. Far off, as the sun raced to its setting point, the airwaves played their dance. “Yes Ma, he is there.” In another city, tears rolling down her scarred face, the woman sat, shoulders heaving, her heart broke again. Twenty years had taken everything from her. Him. .

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