short story

It was just one those questions that bothered her in times of despair. But today was not bleak... And yet it cooked on her backburner, smoking up the corners of her psyche. Just a few yards behind, there lay a slew of memories; mingling with the slime of the present, there were new meanings in every mirror. What she believed were scars, were actually daggered windows to her soul. Bit by bit, like a mini movie, each event replayed itself on these windows.
Her first cycle. The first time she drove without being held. Playing run and catch, while snaking through the community buildings. The rich blue colour of the car that dad bought. Her life's turning point, her surgery.
When was the last time she actually went beyond her career, took the time to organise her life instead of the office. The clients loved her, but to come home each day to walls memories had not touched, lavish, clean and beautiful, the ambience every reputed hotel attempts to create. You could imagine the brisk glamour of business here, not the warmth of a family.
She wasn’t a loner, oh no. There were trips to other cities, movies, lunches, dinners and clients that kept popping up. Diwali, New Years, birthdays and anniversaries, these needed appointments and dealt with secretaries.
The last time she lazed a whole day away was so far back, all she knew was that no relaxation therapy could hold a burnt match head, much less a candle, to it. It was one of those days when the world seemed to be at peace, churning the day out wondrously slow
The little girl grew up as she stood in the doorway, watching her childhood slip quietly away, in to the recesses of past glory, nestling itself, now only in memories.