This post is a little different for me.
At the suggestion of my friend Boo, I am attempting Stampington's short story challenge, which you can read about HERE. The basic idea is to pick one of two photos and write a short story (500 words or less) based on that image.
Here is the photo I chose, followed by my story:
|Photography by Andrea C. Jenkins featured in Life Images 2008|
There’s not much time left now. I don’t know how I can be so sure, but I know. I feel it in my bones and in my breath. In my long life, I've learned there are so many things in this world, magic things, that have no explanation.
There’s not much time left now. I try to pay attention to everything I can, because magic lies in the details. I feel the cool sheets on my withered skin. I see the light shining through the window casting shadows on the dust. I hear little Faye as she tells me that a boy at school said girls should play with dolls, not cars, but she likes her car and she doesn't care what that dumb boy thinks. And she goes on and on about her day, because time is not so precious to a child. And I try to pay attention to it all, but I’m tired and my mind drifts.
Time never stops ticking, but memories are magic and for them time does not exist. They never grow old. Only our minds are not strong enough, and in our weakness the memories fade a little. I think about Charlie, the way I have for the past fifty years. The features of his face may be hazy, but I recall that there was love in his eyes. I forget the voice that spoke the words, but the things he said have stayed in my heart. And he was young, so young. And he was gone so quickly. There he was in his grey suit in the casket, and I laid red roses on his grave, and that’s why I've hated roses all this time. And looking back, I know there weren't too many days that passed where I didn't think of him and I never stopped wishing he could see the things I've seen.
And now I’m thinking that perhaps Faye, when she grows older, will think of me the same way I've thought of Charlie, wishing I were with her to share in the sweetness of this old world.
I don’t know what happens when a person dies. But I do know I've seen magic in this life. I've loved and I've been loved. I've seen children born from that love, generations, all the way to my great-granddaughter, Faye, who’s standing next to me telling me all the things that are important to a child. I want to give her good advice, but she’s so young. She wouldn't understand. And besides, we must all make our own way. So I tell her I love her instead. And she says she loves me too and she will see me tomorrow as she walks with her mother out of the room.
But there’s not much time left now. Tomorrow I will be only a memory to her. Tomorrow I must look for magic in a different place.