Lonely Statue

 

A lonely statue watched over the once flourished garden. No more people came to visit and no more flowers grew. It was once celebrated, where people gathered to remember – now abandoned and forgotten. The little girl ran laughing into the empty garden, ignoring her mother calling after her. When she saw the statue she slowed her pace. Her mother was still calling for her but she didn’t care. The statue portrayed a man gazing over something unseen. He was dressed in simple garment and held a book in his hand. She didn’t think he was a king – although he certainly had the imposing dignity to be one. She gently brushed off the dirt from the small plate beneath the statue. Malik ibn Akhgar; for victory in all its forms, it said. She had never heard the name before but she felt sorry for the statue – standing there all alone.

‘Fatima, you come back here right now!’ Her mother’s voice brought her back from her daydream. She sounded very angry so Fatima didn’t think it was a good idea to keep her mother waiting any longer. ‘Yes mama, I’m coming’. As she walked back towards her mother, she looked back a few times at the statue. ‘Haven’t I told you not to run off like that?’ Her mother said in a harsh tone when Fatima reached her. ‘Sorry mama. The statue looked so lonely and it was very dirty and it didn’t have any flowers’. Her mother was trying very hard to be angry with her but at last she smiled and hugged her. ‘The statue looked lonely’, she said in a cheerful tone, repeating her daughter. ‘The statue can’t feel anything my dear. Now let’s go home before it gets too dark’. Fatima really loved her mother, she made the best pancakes in the whole world and when they got back she had promised her that she would make some after dinner. She wondered if they would make it home in time for Garfield, she really liked that funny cat. ‘Mama, will we make it back in time to see Garfield?’
‘If we hurry we will. We can eat dinner in the living room today if you promise to hold my hand till we get back’. She quickly grabbed her mothers hand and hurried her on – leaving the forgotten park. A few wet drops landed by the statues feet, it had begun to rain.

Reviews

[Genie]

Children have such a gift of seeing into and knowing what adults cannot or will not see. You've done a beautiful job of setting a poignant scene -- the child's innocence and caring, the hint of the possibility that maybe, just maybe, the statue's tears were joining the rain.

Well done all around -- such a complete story in so few words!