Folktale

nce upon a time by the windy shores of the Maldives there was a

young boy named Ahmedaiam, he lived in a worn down shack by the beach with his Anni ( Mother). Every morning he would go out in the silent waters of the Indian Ocean and catch whatever was out there that day. The fish, he would sell at the local market, earn a little money for the daily rice and curry. One day a rich realtor knocked on the door, Good day to you, can I talk to the legal owner of this property? She's sick, and about to die, Ahmedaiman mumbled in sorrow, she cannot be disturbed. Well then, I would like to buy this property, and I am willing to pay good. he announced desperately. Eh... well I am sorry its not for sale! Ahmedaiman slammed the door shut. The offer was tempting, but he could never sell Anni`s childhood house, at least never while she was on her deathbed. Or could he? No, that would be inhumane. But why a rich realtor would want to buy their small haggard shack on a small, useless property. It`s still a mystery. Ahmedaiam positioned a raw, damp cloth on Anni`s forehead, a quick sigh of relief was heard. I want you to do it, she insisted.

Do what? A slight feeling of distress jerks through my body. I want you to sell our house, to that nice young man, she announced. No, we don't have to decide that now Anni, I sat by Anni's bed, holding her hand. Her fragile body carefully tucked in under a blossom patterned blanket, her eyes sparkling like the distant stars at night, waiting to atomize.

The cutting sound of the boat being dragged down the beach, drowned in the roars of the waves. Ahmedaiam pulled his fishing nets from under the house and loaded it into the boat. To be continued