Trio No. 3
by Ben Huberman
Today you can write about anything, in whatever genre or form, but your post must mention a dark night, your fridge, and tears (of joy or sadness; your call). Feel free to switch one ingredient if you have to (or revisit one from previous trio prompts).
I was tired, and covered with dust, and grime. I had worked at cleaning my place the whole day. I had reached home from Riyadh, after two months. Lala (my elder brother) had come to fetch me from the airport.
After sitting in his car, I requested him to take me to the CSD Complex first before taking me home. I needed to stock up on eatables like milk, eggs, chickens, bread, vegetables — everything necessary to start my kitchen once again. The shopping done, Lala dropped me home, leaving me in the driveway with my bags and groceries.
Making my home habitable took the remaining part of the day. It was night now. I badly needed a shower to clean myself from the dust which had settled down in my hair, and on my face.
I turned on the tap. There was a minute trickle of water. I realized that the water tank must be empty. We had used up all the water to do the cleaning. Noman (servant) must have forgotten to turn on the machine to fill the water tank. I was really mad at his forgetfulness. I couldn’t ring the bell for him, knowing once he went off to sleep, you couldn’t wake him up. My (late) husband used to go, and bang his door, when he won’t answer, but for me it wasn’t appropriate.
Shedding tears of frustration, I went to the kitchen to retrieve two bottles of water from the fridge. They were cold, but I needed to wash my hands, and for the ablution before saying my Isha Prayers.
You can imagine how awful I felt with making do with so little water.
Everything clean except for me.