Danser
The music was coming from the house. I could hear it as I walked from the bus stop. I wished it did not come from our house. We just moved in. Our poor neighbours did not even know us.
Was it that time again Betty? I could imagine her swaying to her favourite French songs, in her favourite strapless pink dress, in the lounge. I was freezing outside, it was a cold day in addition to a bad day at school.
Mother was half French, she tried passing it on but it never stuck. "Sous le vent" was the song blaring through our speakers. "With the wind". She would go on, fight till the end, never give up. My mother's moto; face all dangers, face the wind, conquer the sea. The woman's spirit.
I could hear her singing as I reached the porch. I stopped, listened, realised why she was so special to everyone who met her. She was beautiful, different, confident everything I wasn't.
How I wished I was more like mother? But then again, she was not so good at singing!
#theanswer
By Martine Phillips
#writersofinstagram #writer #shortstories #theanswer #souslevent #frenchsongs https://www.instagram.com/p/BpeXnOglWY0/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=12tna0dofz19u