The Crying The cries of the baby break the silence of the cold and dark night. The wind closes and opens the wooden windows now and then. The fall leaves that have not been picked up making small mountains that the wind breaks and makes them again in a distant corner of the brown grass. On the second floor of the house a shadow of a woman is reflected into the large wooden wall that has pieces of yellowish wallpaper hanging-out. An oil lamp is all that is illuminating the room. “When will all you stop crying? It is driving me crazy!” she says, holding one baby with one hand and the bucket of water with the other. She puts the baby on the metallic container and pours the warm water into it, while the other baby cries from across the room. She pours some water with her hand over the baby face to wash him. Her long and sharp nail scratches the baby’s nose and blood begins to pour out. The baby cries out louder with tears running down from his eyes.
Short Stories, Poems, and Random Writing