The Riverside

Part 1

I just wanted to thank some of my friends who took the time to read this story beforehand and gave me their feedback. I'm truly thankful to you for your support and love.

-"Joshua, why haven't you changed the flannel yet? I told you it was warm an hour ago", father enquired in a hoarse voice.

-I replied with  "Yes yes I'm doing it, just hold on a second." 

-"You always blank out, daydreaming. Do you even care what happens to us?"

I didn't find it a pleasant question to answer, so I remained quiet, clenching my fists until my palms hurt. I soaked a new flannel piece in cold water and placed it on my mother's forehead, dabbing the old one on her hands and feet. It had been two hours since I washed her head and already her hair had gone completely dry. I could feel her scalp burning with fever even while changing the cloth. 

Father was busy back again with the handloom, the khat-khat sound persistent in the background. He was devoted in carefully passing each thread through the heddles making up the warp. Then, he would be meticulous in picking up the weft and inserting over and under the warp. He was a well-known man in our village Rosulyn, with exceptional weaving skills and a very religious one as well. He would visit the local church every Sunday unless there was some other severe business which demanded his immediate attention. Our house would be stuffed with wool and cotton yarns for days and as soon as the supply had finished, a whole new batch would come and take its place. The colours would radiate hues of light blue, pink, salmon and lavender. However, despite their comfortable texture and appearance, one could find it difficult to stay with them because most of the time, it would stink so much that you would have to cover your nose or leave the room. Then, there was also the notorious cotton dust which made even breathing seem like a chore and of course, the tremendous noise of the operating handloom. 

After completing my task, I returned to my previous position on the porch, holding onto dear Momo. Momo has been in our family since he was a puppy. I met him on the outskirts of the village a few years back. His parents were nowhere to be seen and it was raining very hard that evening. I decided to bring him home. We took care of him for three days, tending to his needs and hunger. I intended to keep him inside our house but my parents didn't allow me to. So, he would spend most of his time resting on our porch or just go on tours around the village. He eventually came back during lunch and dinner.

Momo was usually a timid dog, but he did step up to the occasion whenever needed. I could never forget how he had once saved me from getting mauled by a fox. That day, I was out on a venture and I happened to return home after the sun was set. A fox tried to attack me from behind a bush on my way back home, but Momo was there and attacked it with all his strength. He was quite wounded in the process but he saved me nonetheless. My mother stayed up all night, looking after his injuries and I got a deserved beating for staying out for so long. 

This incident took place one year ago when mom was alright. It has been a month since she suddenly collapsed while preparing dinner for us and has failed to regain her previous strength. My father initially thought it was a usual case of fever and that she would be herself in no time. But even after two weeks, when there was no remarkable improvement, my father finally got worried and went to the next village to call a doctor. The doctor came and checked her pulse and all. Finally, he prescribed some herbal remedies, which hadn't shown any real progress as of then. 

I spend most of the daytime outdoors with Momo and would take one yarn with me to use a part of it as a leash to handle him if required. There were many landmarks in our as well as the surrounding villages. There was the local church, fountains, hot springs, and a fabled thousand-year-old tree and even a haunted riverside. I have been to every one of them, except for the last one. The church believes that place is a resting site of devil-creatures and unholy. Almost eight people have died near that place in the past four years and villagers have come up with their own superstitions and myths regarding the place, even though I never fully believed them. Sometimes my friend Oliver would also accompany me on my ventures or we have a nice time playing football. The other local boys and girls don't usually play with me and I preferred wandering alone.