Her Last Memory

By Devananda Edamadathil

His eyes gleamed as he saw her running towards him. Her dark brown curls danced in the wind, the warm morning sunlight cascaded on those rosy cheeks, giving a golden hue, her lustrous eyes looked angelic, and her enchanting smile, implausible for a young Jew holding onto life in the Holocaust, was an epitome of effortless grace. He had sneaked away from his Nazi father to see her.

She handed him a bouquet of stunning blue cornflowers. “That’s the last bunch. Mother said it’s time for us to go away, to the camps.” His heart ached, “Will you return?”

“Mother wouldn’t say that. But, I’ll never forget you.” He brushed away a curl and gently kissed her petal-like cheek. His breath against her warm skin lingered for a while and made his little round glasses foggy. “It’s time to go; your father will be here soon.” Her smile began to fade as she stepped away from him. “Remember me,” she said as he waved goodbye.

As the day passed, he watched the cornflowers wilt away, scorched, losing color and life, under the blaze. The last memory of her faded into a distant past.

By Devananda Edamadathil