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the enemy decided to try and kill everyone instead of admitting
defeat. So they stole the rain away with their nuclear weapons and
their pride, leaving us without water and without hope.
For so many years it’s been us against the world. Gramps and
Adèle. Adèle and Gramps. The family of two struggling to survive at
the edge of civilisation. I could lose him today, just like he lost
Grandmama. I wouldn’t find anything to bury.
I’m screaming, choking on dust as his name tears itself from my
throat. Then I hear it: music. Someone is singing, the voice soaring
as it fights to be heard.
“C’est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie, Il me l’a dit, l’a juré pour la vie.”
Their wedding song; their promise that their love was for life.
Gramps is singing the song he and Grandmama danced to all those
years ago on the grass while the lone violinist played, bringing to life
a day I thought he had long forgotten. I can see them now, holding
each other as they sang, heedless of the rain pouring down around
them. They were so very young then; so utterly in love.
I never met Grandmama, though she gave me her name. Even
after he’s forgotten everything else, Gramps still can’t say ‘Adèle’
without it catching in his throat. But he’s saying it now, over and over.
My last glimpse of Gramps is through the red haze. He’s reaching
an arm out into the wind, inviting the storm to dance. For a moment,
the streams of dust around him hint at a rippling skirt and he sways.
Then the storm swallows him up.
‘
A Life In Red
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