"Madame, you know we can't afford that type of deal, if there's any other option you might have..."
Unfazed, she looked him dead in the eyes. She knew her business was the only thing the little town was hanging on to. "Well, I suppose you'll just have to figure something out then, sir." Madame then turned on her heels in the sand and with one last look at Henderson, uttered, "Good day."
At this point, Henderson did not know what to do other than to watch her make her way to Oakland's docks, her sky-blue dress billowing in the wind. At last, when Madame was certainly out of earshot, he grumbled, "Good day, Madame," then closed his eyes and prayed to God that all fifty crates of the Oakland-grown tea had made it aboard that ship.
···
This story is dedicated to my father. It was my gift to him for his fiftieth birthday.
𝐕𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐚𝐧 𝐑𝐚𝐣𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐗 𝐉𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧.
In a world that screams, I stand in despair,
My voice drowned out, lost in the air.
Chains of tradition tighten each day,
I long to escape, but I'm forced to stay.
Each breath I take feels heavy and torn,
Every mistake a scar I've worn.
I crave a sky where I can be free,
Away from the walls that imprison me.
For now, I sit with my heart in pain,
Silent, yet screaming, again and again.
Though shattered, a spark in me still survives,
Dreaming of freedom where my soul can rise.