The headache

She lay on her bed, restless without sleep or thought. Her head had been pounding, and at the roots of her hair was pricking pain. She couldn’t sleep. And about an hour earlier, she had retired from the daily pleasure of reading a few pages of a classic novel, because the pain in her brow bones was so severe, it was blinding, and the words and phrases were seeming too deep to fathom. The headache had come, and grown from insignificant to unbearable, and wouldn’t let her eyes stay open. Neither would it let her sleep.

She lay in the darkness of her room, trying to think of the events that might’ve invited the wrath of this unpleasant state of feeling. What could’ve been so an event so harsh in an uneventful day?

The long, loud screech of the carefully pulled door darted a flash of pain across her brow. It was Mother. She came and lay beside. She was like that magic blanket, that once embraces you, gives you sound, deep sleep. The girl complained about her state of pain and cried. Its always easier to cry inside the warmth of an embrace. Sobbing, she finally asked, “Shall I take that medicine, Mother? Or I’ll probably lay sleepless all night.”

Mother softly pressed the centre of her brow, caressing the the roots of her pain with a finger, and said, “No, you shan’t. One must learn to bear pain sometimes. Let it be gone when it will. Stop fighting it, divert your mind, and it will be gone soon.”

The soft, circular movements of Mother’s magical finger on her hurting brow put her scruples to rest, and she drifted into deep, long, dreamless slumber.


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