She Listened, Intently.

3

She was exhausted, it should be known that stalking fireflies is no easy task. Beads of sweat trickled down the disobedient hair strands which poked out of her tight braid. The kohl smeared along the thin layer of skin surrounding eyes, already showing signs of dark circles. Her panting almost extinguished the 'antique' lantern flame held close to her. She had developed a habit of keeping her belongings close to her now, all her belongings, but could she?

She was caught by her maternal uncle Kuttapan (her moustache mole uncle), staring at the froth emerging from the current of the brook. He thought of her just like her mother,  unusual(and not in a good way).
Before hearing her uncle shout her name she was lost in her rather unusual business. Leaves, twigs and other things float in the brook for others, but for her they are drowning; they are fighting to stay on the surface, to grab a puff of air before finally giving up. She can hear their screams and eventually feel the peace.

Rukmani! Edi Rukmani!
Her uncle shouted.
She was startled, her palms now sweated because fear come over and overpowered her.
After being given a slap for sneaking off and dragged over to the house she was thrown in her room, which was her mother's room when she was like Rukmani.
There was a nicely made bed, a jug with water and a glass kept on a table, which looked as if was made by rotten wood.
She lay on the bed and looked at the ceiling. The walls  decorated with scars of rain caused dampness laden with cheap lime revealed cracks of a long lost time.
Old like the lamp, capable to divulge into tales, maybe of her mother.

The dirty off white scars and accumulated dust on the slightly angled walls swirled to create the whirlpool of the brook with leaves drowning and attaining peace.