Scattered Frames.

The crisp yellowed pages stirred dust which had yet settled.

Growing up, she was told that she was a "disappointment" as a son had been the prime choice.

Her entry to the Gifted stream was, in his words, "a fluke".

Her consistent topping of her cohort annually in English and Maths since she started schooling was because "the rest were stupid".

As she toiled over her academics, she heard that "girls don't need to study much" as all they had to do was to "marry a rich husband".

Snide remarks were passed during major examinations, "Why study? Bound to fail."

When friends dared to call her home, disturbances in the background would chime till the conversation ended.

Wielding an 'S' paper in English Literature in a bid for future scholarships, cackles echoed, "You, a scholar?"

When major setbacks occurred, laughter permeated. "Very Good!" often followed this.

She managed to pick herself up in a matter of months and meander back into the mainstream with eventual Honours, but of course, this was dismissed as"sheer luck".

Entering the workforce, her promotions garnered "they must be mad","is there no one else to promote?" and the like.

Then, Silence.

These awkward still pockets - she wasn't accustomed to such notions.

Days gave way to months before years fleeted by - ten, to be exact.

Soon, the reels of time came to an End.

And its scribe was no more,

For Dad had taken his final breath.

And like the figure she'd remembered him by,
It was just like him not to say Goodbye.
With nary a tear in her eye,
It grates and makes one wonder Why.