Toitoi 15



Words by

Natahlia Miller, age 10

Pictures by

Tiria Carney, age 11

Translation by

Narration by

You can read this story in

by clicking the button below.

Read translated version

As I crouch in the La-Z-Boy my grandad once sat on, I picture the distinctive tufts of grey hair that covered his wrinkly forehead. I remember his deeply wounded arms and slender chicken legs. His flushed cheeks and droopy smile were a sign that he wasn’t having a good time.

     His soft ears jiggled like jelly every time he moved. His hazel eyes stared at me as wire-like veins protruded from his saggy neck. The pitch black jersey he wore was the colour of the night.

     The baggy sleeves led to a grey and black upside-down wristwatch. He dragged his left arm up to the purple bags that darkened every day and gazed hopelessly at the time on his watch.

     After a while, he reached for the steaming bowl of hot chicken noodle soup. His mouth opened slowly and made a loud slurp before it shut again.