Ovi -
we cover every issue
Μονοπάτι της Εκεχειρίας  
Ovi Bookshop - Free Ebook
Stop human trafficking
Ovi Language
George Kalatzis - A Family Story 1924-1967
Stop violence against women
Murray Hunter: Opportunity, Strategy and Entrepreneurship
International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement
BBC News :   - 
iBite :   - 
Horse made of glass - Part 7
by Katerina Charisi
2017-07-02 10:04:59
Print - Comment - Send to a Friend - More from this Author
DeliciousRedditFacebookDigg! StumbleUpon

The boys were still sleeping. Her children. Once he had told her “I wish we had a little man sleeping right in between, right? Would be nice”. And she’d said “No way”. She never dared to admit to even herself, but she felt jealous. Jealous for a life that didn’t exist and would get in between. It was just a tiny pinch somewhere in her heart but she felt it. It was the sparkle in his eyes, the tone in his voice. She knew he would be a good father. She didn’t know if she could ever be a good mom. Nothing had mattered though when she felt the boy alive in her body. Not even him.

She listened to the birds singing and the sun emerged slowly from behind the mountain tops. Dust was dancing between white sunrays and fell on the porch and the grass and shined. She smiled and waited for her boys to call her. Mamma. Mamma.

glass1_400She remembered the first year she spent with the boy in the house. The peace and tranquility she felt in her soul. She remembered how she observed everything about the baby and how she soon followed his routine, the two of them alone for the most part of the day, cuddling together in bed, taking naps. How she curled her body around the baby like he was still inside her womb, aligning her breaths to his, her hand around his tiny fist. She remembered how much she enjoyed warming water in a pot on the stove and filling the basin and holding the baby gently while she washed his silky soft body. How she watched him growing day by day and how his blurry dark grey eyes turned puppy warm brown and finally looked at her.

It seemed to her now that year had passed too fast. When the boy took his first clumsy steps he never wanted to stay down again. She took him every morning and walked around and she talked to him about everything they listened and saw in the land that surrounded them. The boy was listening carefully widening his eyes and she laughed when she saw that what interested him most where the empty colored gun shells they found all around.

Soon he learned to recognize the berry bushes and waited patiently while she filled a little plastic bucket with juicy black and sour red berries and then they would sit on a large rock and eat. With the corner of her eyes she watched how he shivered when he ate a red one and she was trying not to laugh, still he just shook his little body and grabbed another red one. In summer she picked for him sweet honey dripping figs and they sat on the warm grass and watched the sunset and the planes and the birds, and when seagulls flew around the mountains she would tell him “uh oh, we’re going to have a cooold winter” and he would ask her “is the water going to be so cold again?” and she would say “yes, it will be too cold.”

And then he would ask her again to tell him about the Centauries and the Lonely Beech, the ancient tree on the mountain’s top that stood still forever.

“Where Chiron was teaching Achilles how to read and write and fight”.

“Achilles like me?”

“Yes, like you.”

“Can we go some day?”

“Sure we can go. But it will be a long walk. You need to be a little older.”


“I promise.”

They never went.

When the boy turned three she managed to catch her breath. She started sleeping normally again at nights and being able to rest a little during the day for the boy was sitting quietly on the floor and played. A wonderful little boy, capable for so many things, potty trained, able to eat alone, put on and take off his shoes. She started to think how nice it would be if she could maybe get a bicycle with a large basket and how nice it would be the two of them taking long rides around the mountains. She even started thinking about her own self again; and then she felt another life growing inside her.

She wasn’t sure about how she felt about it. She was happy, yes. The boy wouldn’t be alone in this isolation. She didn’t have any brothers or sisters. She always replied “no”, when her parents asked her if she wanted a little brother or sister to play with. She would say yes if her mother wouldn’t add while giggling “it will be your responsibility though, little miss”. She didn’t want to take care of a younger brother or sister. She just wanted someone to play with around the house.

She wished it didn’t happen so soon, just that. She wanted to enjoy those first years with the boy without sharing her love. She wanted to enjoy her own life again. She wanted a lot of things and she didn’t know how to raise two children. How she should share her love and attention to each one of them. She wondered if she was capable to become a mother of two.

The first 19 weeks passed like the baby was just a far away dream. She felt all the same and strong. But once she got in her 20th week, she never slept again.


Horse made of glass – Part 1 -Part 2 -Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6Part 7 -


Print - Comment - Send to a Friend - More from this Author

Get it off your chest
 (comments policy)

© Copyright CHAMELEON PROJECT Tmi 2005-2008  -  Sitemap  -  Add to favourites  -  Link to Ovi
Privacy Policy  -  Contact  -  RSS Feeds  -  Search  -  Submissions  -  Subscribe  -  About Ovi