Tickle MAX!

As far as this soul had ever remembered, the only anecdote at Wan Fatimah’s dwelling was being tickled half – dead by Kak Ida, my niece. Wan Fatimah, my Mum’s mum was willing to keep her eye on me during my mum’s delivery – it was my younger sister, Maryam. I could never imagine the whole house but the hall I slept with Kak Ida. It was stretched long from end to end, amidst the wall a TV set, with two vases of old petals, standing on a firm wooden shelf clamping the TV. Small jars of something ambiguous for a kid to observe, and some frames of old, old pictures were set apart in a row on the top shelf. The long stretch was the track he used to escape Kak Ida’s unstoppable libido for tickling. Yet, his ten years old cousin would never let go of him – no matter on which spot on the stretch does he run, she will catch and tickle him to the max.