Standing atop the terrace of his humble eatery, Antonio surveys his seven years in the city that was a stranger to him on that tough first day in August . He had slept on park benches and consoled a hungry stomach till his stint as a helper in a restaurant. He had worked night and day in his attempt to break free of a life that his mother called ‘fate’. He knew fate was an excuse , a weapon of victimization of the poor and with hard work and perseverance, it could tilt in his favor – his rationale for abandoning and escaping from the unpromising village. His mother had visited his city thrice . Her eyes had told him that she had forgiven him and was happy to see him gradually but confidently steer his life towards adequacy .
Perhaps, he would return one day ,to the familiar meadows and narrow lanes , after having created a life that was rich enough to inspire and to be emulated.
Hope isn’t a bad thing.
Word count- 168
This week’s photo prompt is provided by Grant-Sud. Thank you Grand-Sud for our photo prompt!