The Shortcut to Heaven (Almost)

Turkish Tapestry Rug

Late. Late. Late for school. No one woke me up. How did this happen? Sister Mary Anne’s ruler is waiting. Picked up white bread. Snuck out the kitchen door

The route is through a Durian plantation. If I am to catch the flag-raising. If not, it will take me to walk a full block to the street on the right, then run the full length of the plantation on the left then turn right again for another block before school.

So, it. is home to durian plantation to school. Here we go. The landowner’s dogs didn’t sing. Oh, did you ever smell and taste durian fruit? It is heavenly. The smell is like days-old gym socks with turpentine, decaying pig flesh and so forth. The taste is creamy salty, sweet caramel kind of a vibe. Oh, I digress. So here we go – I dart through every Durian tree, avoid mud banks and prickly bushes, I can see the white gates, when I realized there wasn’t any netting to guard me from falling durian abo . . .

!!! BONK !!!

A throbbing headache woke me. Flinched on cold steel bed. The ammonia smelled odious. The blinding light made me squint. My mom, our maid, the doctor and the landowner talked in hushed tones. I got hit by a falling durian fruit. Had it fallen from a nine-foot tree, I might have met Saint Peter.

Short, short, short tree . . . . of life!

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