I’m still searching for the multi-coloured sneakers I had bought for Kat on her 14th birthday. “I’ll go for a run till the supermarket and see how they fare. I’ll be back in 20 minutes”, she had said, excitedly. This is how she trained for her fledgling track-and-field career.
It’s been four months since she went on her run, but even today, I can hear the sound of the blast in my ears, playing on a loop. Every single day, I drive to the end of the world, where they disposed off the debris from the blast, yet I am unable to find those multi-coloured sneakers.
Is it because Kat is still alive or has all colour in my life disappeared after lowering an empty casket in my daughter’s grave?