Tell Me Your Dreams

“Tell me your dreams, Marco. What do you see, mi hijo? Where do you want to go? What do you want to do?” She asked, dusting off the caked dried mud from his hair. Tiny wisps of blonde-brown hair fell across his eyebrow making him look younger than the tender age of four that he was and she caught herself choking back a tear. She could not afford to seem weak in front of him. She had to stay strong. Yet another year, a whole year of 365 days. And then it would be all over.

“Oy Natasja, your turn! They be a waiting for ya, don’t keep ‘em waiting girl!” yelled out one of the other women, making Natasja turn and look back at the source of the voice. Little Marco chose the distraction to make a run for it. Putting up buildings in the mud with his friend Alex was way better than talking to Mama about stuff that made her cry. Besides, Marco didn’t dream. He saw. The long line of clothes that hung way high up for him to reach. All he wanted was those colourful striped clothes. A different one to wear each day. But the last time he had told that to Mama, she had gotten cross with him.

Mama said they would be out of here to a new home in another year. Marco didn’t know what one year meant, but he hoped it wouldn’t be too long. He was bored of the clothes he wore every day; the monotony wore him out. He yearned for those blues and reds and browns. The colourful shirts that hung upside down every single day on the clothesline beckoning him over to an exciting life on the other side.

“Come on Diego, I don’t got all day man,” said the beefy heavy set man, slapping the quiet guy on his back, pulling him out of his reverie. Diego let out a long sigh and threw out the excess water from the trough. Getting to his feet, he heaved up the twenty odd inmate garments he had just washed and handed them over to Garcia. His task for the day was done. Now it was up to Garcia to get those dried and back. Standing up, he arched his back and stretched himself, his eyes coming to rest on the wall that separated the men’s quarters from the women’s.

He wondered how his wife and son were faring. Not a day went by that he didn’t rue getting into the wrong side of the law. That he was incarcerated was one thing, but the fact that he had gotten his pregnant wife entangled in this was something that he struggled to live with every day.

Behind him, the previous day’s laundry fluttered in the soft cool breeze.

Pic Credit: Pexels
The above post is post 2 of 7 in a series of posts written as part of a 7-day, 'Write Tribe Festival of Words June 2018' challenge and based on the image prompt for the day! For more on the same, click on the link.


  1. Wow... Nice one Deepa... Keep it up.

  2. As story goes on characters were greatly introduced, got connected, especially with 'Mama'. Will visit quite often now.

    1. Thanks, Bibek! Hope to see you here more frequently! :)

  3. The perspective could possibly help.....impressive thoughts.

  4. Very beautiful narrative and unique perception. Hope to see more of this sort ...

  5. My god! I wonder how the clothesline with so many warm and colourful clothes could trigger such a sad story of a small family separated by a wall in a prison.
    A touching and highly imaginative story.Good job Deepa!


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