Facing The Fear Of Rejection

Grannies Delicacy

This story, is unfortunately what many have to face and sacrifice their lives for. 

But the main plot is the fear of rejection Arman faces in the cruel world.

Arman was crowded, his hands in between his thighs, making as small space as possible. His father sat beside him. The van trembled with ease. 

"Negotiations! Negotiations! Buy for 200 rupees!" The voice of men, women and children were mixing and the van came to a harsh halt. Arman bumped into his father. He looked down at his tanned, bruised legs. His knee joint looked broken, one sticking out further than the other. Slowly, everybody stood up and began strutting out of the van, walking down the metallic, sloped stairs. He held tight onto his fathers hand as he emerged into the real world, motorcycles passed by, the noises of motorcycles, negotiations and screaming hushed. Arman was trapped in his own world. The silence became unbearable for him. His ears began to ring with a pain as the world began to turn to pixels. He felt as he, himself was trapped. 

As Arman woke up, he was met with dizziness which made his world swirl from side to side. As the spinning and swirls became gentler, he could hear the noises of liquid boiling in a pot. The smell of butter chicken soup entered his nose. He took a deep breath through his nose enjoying the smell. He turned his head to the sound of boiling soup. To his surprise, a wrinkly, old lady was sat by there. She was pale, but yet so wrinkly. She slowly stirred the pot with manner and she scooped some up and poured it back in. She turned towards him. As her eyes dilated she swung her hands in the air. 

"My baby boy has awoken!" his grandma whispered as she ran over. She yanked her hand and placed it on his forehead. Her hands were warm from the cooking. She shrugged and strutted over to pour the soup into a bowl. Momentarily as she was doing that. He turned to look at the wooden flooring and walls. Framed pictures hung in black N' white. A young, flawless boy was standing beside a gorgeous woman in, what seemed like a white dress. It swept across the grass. The grown out lush trees stood tall behind them. Although there were no colours, for a split second. He imagined the blossoming tree behind them.

"Here you go dear." she uttered in a crooked voice followed by a hoarse cough. She placed the bowl beside him on the desk beside a night lamp. He sat up, put a towel on his lap, then placing the bowl on him. He took a large scoop of the soup before ejecting it into his mouth. The flavour exploded across his taste buds, the tiny seasoning of spice began to affect his throat. He dropped the spoon back in the bowl and felt refreshed. After he finished the soup. He placed the bowl and the spoon back on the desk beside him and got up from the bed. A couple minutes later passed by. He and his grandmother was sat in a wooden table, sitting opposite of eachother. 

"I.. Had a dream." Arman stuttered, "It was.. Back in India.." the grandma look at him intense, her eyes dilated. 

"Oh my baby.. Don't you think about that. It was long, long ago."