Will you remember me if I'm gone?

Will you remember me after I'm long gone?

She looks up at me her black hair dripping wet, cascading like waterfalls down her shoulder. Her eyes brim with tears as she asks pouting, "Why would you do that?" "Uh," I start, a jug of water in my hand, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. " It was just a prank," I say. I hear the door slam open, revealing a very crossed mom. "Priya, you're the big sister! How could you this to your sister?!" she yells, yanking the water jug from me. "But it was just a prank-" I start, but the door closes. "Look at that," I say, plopping down on the torn rag that was supposed to be my bed. "Happy now?" I ask. "Sorry," my sister says, trotting up to me and laying her cheek on my shoulder. There she goes again, throwing me off guard with those antics of hers. "What is it?" I ask, now flipping through my tattered journal. "I'll get you back one day too, you see" she mutters, snuggling up beside me.

My feet felt sore with all the chores I did today. Thinking I finally got my free time to write, I sit down and open my old journal. "How dare you forget?!" I start and turn, to see a very crossed looking mom. "What happened, mom?" I ask. "You didn't do the dishes! Again!" she yells. "But u never told me to!" I say, aghast. "Oh, you're now acting like as if you forgot it?" she says. "No, really mom, I-" I start, but I'm cut off by her. "So it's something I have to tell you to do, huh?" she says now. "Okay, I'll do it, mom," I sigh and make my way over to the kitchen again.

It was now time for mom to go bring water from the well, I think. Plopping down on the beaten-down rag in my room for the second time I open my journal, hoping mom wouldn't call me to the kitchen again. Hearing footsteps approaching my room, I quickly scramble behind the rusty cupboard, not making a noise. "Where is that girl" I hear my mom mutter. "Must be out again with those friends of hers, wait till she comes back" she says as the footsteps recede and finally make their way out of the house. I crawl back out and holding the journal close to my chest, look out the window wondering when I could one day, write without constantly having to look over my shoulder.

I then put my greying coat on, tucking my shabby hair into it. As I made my way to the factory, I wondered what crime I had ever committed, be it in my previous or present life, for this weight of a family weighing on my shoulders. I soon find myself standing still at the factory gate, waiting to be let in. "Come in" the gruff voice of my boss calls me in. "And get to work fast."

Hours later I'm back home, and I look up at the rusty clock on the wall. It's time for my sister to come home. I hear a knock at the door and opening it, I see my sister standing there, a tired look on her face, her legs thinner than ever. "Was work hard today?" I ask as she nods. "I'm sorry you have to do this... you know how things have been going downhill after the incident with brother," I say, my mind flashing back to that day when I had to run from the hospital barefoot, run to my waiting mother to convey the news we have been dreading. Brother was gone for good. And that's when my mother started treating me this way. As if it was all my fault. "Come here," I say, pulling my sister into a warm hug, holding her tight against my chest. I didn't want her to see my tears.

I sit down with my journal, running my hand along its edges tattered with the number of times I've opened it but failed to write even a word in it. As I lift my pen, I hear a knock at the door. "Mom, you're early" I breathe, opening the door. "Well, were you plotting up to prank your poor sister again?!" she asks, her lecture starting right from the doorway. "Not on my watch" she mutters, making her way over to the kitchen. I gulp. I haven't done the dishes.

I sit in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes as mom left to collect water the next day. "Bye mom," I call out after her. I hear the door slam, leaving me in cold silence.

I then continue with my routine, pulling on my coat, tucking my hair inside, and making my way over to the factory. "Come in," the usual gruff voice greets me in as I make my way over to my post, get rid of my worn boots and start hammering smouldering hot pieces of metal. "Get working faster, boy!" a supervisor yells in my direction as I nod, trying to tuck my hair deeper into the coat.