Every Morning

The moderator gave us a phrase and we were free to write about anything that we wanted to. Time given to write was 10 minutes. 

The prompt was : "Every morning"

The call of morning prayers always wakes me up right when the dream started to make sense. Now nothing made sense anymore. The call of the morning is just an alarm that does not need to be called anymore since my mind would jolt up just as soon as my dream starts.

Dream. That would just remain as that. A dream. The one thing that meant nothing. After that morning. After the call that I got from my fighting mate at home calling telling me that he is there no more when I get home. He will never be there. He is lost. He is just gone.

He told me just the other week that he might be going a way for a while. He needed the quiet. He could not stand the nagging of grandmothers and grandfathers about his life about his family and about how he failed in installing the what they think is the right way of living in his children. Just the other week he was talking to me that he would be there in his pilot suit watching me receiving my doctorate and being my wali when I get married.

Just the other day my fighting mate said, he is lost. All is lost. Gone, settled in the wind and just stayed that way. Till now.

He loved the sky. That is where he is now. Where he is buried along with all 239 souls that he brought along with him. Along with my lover. May the ocean hug you warm in the coldness of the Indian sea.

P/S: Wali is a father figure (always a man, father, uncle, brother...) who gives away the bride to the groom during solemnisation.

Disclaimer: This is just a fiction piece. I have no intention to toy with anyone's emotion and I feel deeply about the tragedy as well.