Everything darkened. As if wrapped in a black, mourning veil. And then, here and there, flashes, something like the spots
one sees when looking at the sun with closed eyelids, clenched like fists when in pain or
when deeply moved, trying not to cry.
Of course, Mona described
what had happened to her in a much simpler way, without literary terms —
a ten-year-old child expresses herself
in a more straightforward, raw manner.
“Mom, everything darkened!”
Mona’s voice sounded sharp, frightened. Besides
complaint, there was a hint of shame. Her mother knew well
this tone in her daughter’s voice. Mona never hid this feeling;
she let it show
in the way she spoke, in her overall demeanor,
whenever she had to say something unpleasant.
“Mom, everything darkened!”
Mona was blind, she couldn’t see anything.