My great-grandmother is in bed. The room smells of lilac talcum powder and rubbing alcohol. She is awake, eyes closed. Her lips slowly curl in a weak smile.
“Orioles! See them in that tree? How I love their song!” she whispers.
Puzzled, I follow her bony finger. Just a white wall.
I only hear muffled sounds from the kitchen.
I have no idea how to respond. So, I stand there, aware that something is
expected from me. What? This is overwhelming for an eight-year-old.
I understand now what brain cancer was doing to my great-grandmother. The memories stopped bothering me.
This is February's assignment for Yeah Write's Hindsight 20/20 : rewrite this text in 100 words.