Fiction logo

Parents and children

The events of family life, bathed in time, happy, and sad, together with the dusty old story

By Shenna KautzerPublished about a year ago 6 min read
Like
Parents and children
Photo by Vitolda Klein on Unsplash

The events of family life, bathed in time, happy, and sad, together with the dusty old story. The sea is a cup of wine, not sweet and not bitter, like tasteless plain water, only this joke, but become unique in the red dust, many years past, still classic and legendary.

It was late autumn in the late 1990s, and one day my mother sent a message that my family had given me a house. I was so happy that I was humming to the house, and my bike was flying under my feet. How could I not be excited? My husband, son, and I were still living in a rented house.

The sun was slanting in the west, the blood-red sunset was surrounded by clouds slowly sinking, and the violet-like veil of mist draped on the yellow mud path was very charming. The surface of the lake was moved by a slight autumn breeze, rippling, and the beauty of this scenery made my heart drunk. The countryside is good, inhaling the fragrance of osmanthus flowers, and people are much more spiritual. I have to admire my father's vision, he knows how to pick a place to build a house.

My father was a construction engineer, and in the words of my elder brother, "My father was tired of seeing the lines on the drawings and wanted to fill his vision with the living green world."

My father bought an old house in the suburbs, demolished it, and built a chic three-story house with four suites on each floor. The front yard was planted with holly, oleander, palm trees, plantain, white orchids, etc. With the beauty of such a paradise, I drunkenly hoped to move in soon.

I remember when we siblings were busy planting these flowers and plants, although we were so tired that our backs hurt and our hands got blood blisters, we were very happy. My elder brother and second brother, with their wives and children, sat around a table with us and talked with great interest about how to decorate the house beautifully, which is still a lingering memory in my mind today.

I came back that fall because my father was seriously ill and he wanted his children to come to the hall and have something important to say. When I arrived at the yard, it was a different scene. Not to mention the potted flowers were gone, and only stumps remained of the brightly colored bananas and fragrant white orchids. The branches of the holly tree are also sparse. At the west end of the courtyard, there is a tool room with hoes, shovels, and other things. This was the place I knew best. When we were tired of working, we rested inside. The second brother played the flute, I sang, and my mother leaned out the window and listened happily. What a warm family joy! But now this tool room, the small window glass has cracked and is dusty. I seldom return to this home, when the house is divided, because I am a married daughter, and my father excluded me.

The eldest brother is the eldest son, my father especially valued him, and my mother naturally also especially loved big brother. If there is anything special about the older brother in the three siblings that makes his parents favorable, it is the sweetness of his mouth and his ability to accommodate. When the house was divided, into four suites on the first floor, the elder brother was given two sets, the remaining small suite was given to the second brother, and the remaining set was locked, the father said to keep it useful. The second brother was so angry that his face turned pale but also convinced his sister-in-law to live in the house. The worst was me, empty-handed, with no share in the corner of the room. My father said, "My daughter does not live in my mother's house." I smiled bitterly and faced my father in the hospital bed. What could I say at this point, my father knew that my husband, my son, and I were living outside in a rented house.

Not only am I the only one who blames my father, in fact, no one says anything good about him, even my elder brother is also full of complaints, because there are still second and third floors that are not divided. The worst or mother, I came back this time, because I heard that big brother and mother had a lot of trouble, did not come back to see, I always feel bad. I often thought, "How can my father's soul rest in peace? Even though I didn't get a house, I would always come back to visit my mother. That day, I had just entered the courtyard when I heard the sound of broken bottles and jars mingling with my older brother's curses coming from my mother's room on the second floor. I was surprised and rushed upstairs to my mother's room to see my mother wiping her tears in silence, my second brother standing by without a word, and my older brother wrestling with things. I shouted out to big brother, probably because I was a rare guest, he was about to drop something hands stopped in a flash, said to mother: "Do not think I have to find that key, hum, not necessarily with me this top!" He raised his two fists and ascended to the third floor with a thud. It turned out that big brother wanted the third floor of the house.

"Mom, sister-in-law has put the briquette bucket with my rice bowl!" The second sister-in-law came rushing in to complain.

"What about it?" The elder sister-in-law, who came closely behind, stood at the door of the house with her waist crossed, "The eldest son at home is bigger than the sky, so put it wherever is convenient!"

"Mom, do you care?" The second sister-in-law, whose face was already pale, saw that her mother remained silent and rushed to the kitchen, and in a moment there came the sound of a briquette bucket being slashed with a knife.

Sister-in-law and sister-in-law fought, two women of equal strength, and in a few minutes they were already cloaked, their faces bloodied from each other's scratches. After the fight, they began to scold each other again, at which point my mother cried bitterly at my father's effigy, "Alas, it's all the aftermath of your father's legacy; we should have separated the kitchens in the first place, he prefers to say so that there would be a large family harmony."

I remember the year when my father said his will from his hospital bed and my mother took notes. I stood at the front of the room listening to his intermittent speech, afraid to miss a word. When an old man dies, there is nothing that comes to mind more than the distribution of his estate. In addition to my mother's half of the property, the other half should be the three of us siblings. But what was my father talking about? I was at a loss!

Short Story
Like

About the Creator

Shenna Kautzer

The spring that you look forward to belongs to nature, but the spring that you weave with your hands belongs to you.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.