Little TorretA Story by TrainA play onThis will be the death of me. Of course, I don’t know that but I’m trying to be creative here. So I went to my uncle’s house yesterday. The first thing he noticed besides my presence was a thin book: “Lady Windermere’s fan” by Oscar Wilde I held by my side. You still reading that book,” he said to me while trying to look away, “ it’s been two weeks now”.” “Yeah sorry,” was the only thing I could think of saying. I usually stash the bigger books at home and read them when I get there, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that my uncle wanted to know whether I was really as slow at reading as he thought I was and true enough I am pretty slow. This was a portable book I could take with me wherever. Call it a hobby or a decoration. Either way, it wasn’t something my uncle wanted to hear. So, really that was the perfect signature for a death sentence in a homely conversation. I couldn’t continue my banter after the thoughtful pause that my apology punctured into the atmosphere. And my uncle, seeming to have lost interest in anything I said, just stood there staring away from me. “How is Ramadan going on with you?” I asked and was cut short. I knew it wasn’t the appropriate thing to say for to question a superior was taboo in the family. He didn't mind, though. In fact, he didn’t mind at all. He just walked away. According to Dickens, it were a loss to consider oneself inferior at the prospect of another’s family. So in that sense I didn’t lose anything. I’m just stuck at zero. A pretty thing it would be though, if only the conversation went on like in normal open-minded households, a +1 merit could have been added to that or the zero wouldn’t have been so convincing or would have lost its poignancy overall.
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Added on July 12, 2014Last Updated on July 12, 2014 Tags: #dickens, #deathwish, #embarrasingstory Author
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