redpinkandwhite
"Mrow." My cousin crept up behind me, lovingly--or was it tauntingly?--scratching my back like a kitten would play with a mouse. I jumped a little and tried to move away, but he followed along behind. "I'm a kitty cat!"
Quickly, I turned around and picked up the little tyke, holding one of his hands so he wouldn't paw at me anymore. "Kitty cat is in trouble." I stuck out my tongue at him and ruffled his hair. "Let's go get some ice cream."
"Meow!"
Nodding his head, she graciously handed him his food. Her touch was light, and her long fingers wrapped around the tea cup like a vine of flowers. Her hair was tied up on her head, and a red shirt--his favorite color--was underneath her flowery apron. Even with mismatched shoes and dirty black pants, she still seemed to glow with an ethereal light and an unchanging happiness.
"Thank you," he whispered, hoping his eyes and look could communicate everything he could never say. He glanced down at his food before turning to look back at her. "What--what is your name?"
"Lisa." She smiled at him.
His heart did a flip. "Thank you, Lisa."
Black wings swooped in the air, slowly trailing the air around its sleek wings and lifting the thin, small body from the ground. A small bush beneath it ruffled slightly, and the sand stirred from its lazy sleep only to settle comfortably once more.
"The power of physics at work." The professor nodded his head, and the students gazed on in amazement.
"You see, when your mother and I got together, we became a family. And, we derived you from our integration."
She had a Calculus professor for a father, and even at two years old she knew that she was going to have an interesting life.
Hours and hours, days on end, waiting in the blackness. She couldn't feel her own emotions, so she wasn't happy, she couldn't be.
But, the second that he showed up--safe, warm, and alive from his flight--that happiness returned. Like a pitcher of emotion pouring back into her body, she was safe. Warm. Alive.
Oh, gods. Every time I see this word, my breath sticks in my throat like peanut butter. My mouth is as dry as the Sahara, and my eyes want to pop out of their sockets. Not that I didn't believe in a God--no, I believed that God was real. It was, however, what I had done in the church that made me want to shrivel and die. She was really hot, I was really young, and the pews were highly uncomfortable.
(Don't take offense! Please.)
He didn't mean to destroy the vase. His friends had been partying, and invited one too many people over. The shoulder-height shelf was just in the reach of his friend's arm. So, he set up a decoy. He spread the shards out across the ground and sprinkled some of the dust from the pot on the dog. Now it looked like the dog had knocked over the vase.
It wasn't until his parents came home that he realized--the shelf was placed too high. His dog couldn't reach up that high. His parents grounded him, and he realized that he deserved it.
I am not one to be blamed. Lowest on the totem pole, trying to reach up closer to my dreams, I am certainly not the one who caused the whole pole to fall. But, when my boss decided to cut down the pole, sawing through the wood as fast as his wobbling arms would move, I was the one blamed. I couldn't do my job right, and it just wasn't worth it.
His gnarled, twisted hands gently touched hers. A small tear slid down her cheek, and the doctor continued.
He knew that it was tough for her to have to help him with little things because of his arthritis--having to reach up to the top shelf to get him his daily applesauce or to reach up to grab his shirts--but she always did it every day without complaint. It was one of the reasons that he had married her in the first place--her dependability.
And, now the doctor was telling her that she was going to be debilitated by a horrible curse. Alzheimer's. Without another word, the doctor turned and left. She collapsed into my arms, and began to cry. Just like she had done when they told us about my crippling arthritis that would make it impossible for me to even clothe myself.
But, no matter how sad the news was, there was no way I could ever cry. For I knew that her love had helped me grow and improve as a man. And, now it was her turn.
I would do whatever it takes to make sure that she will not lose her memory of us. And to help her grow.
Beautiful blue sea shells rested on the glass pane, a treasure resting in a case of memories. He pulled out the delicate piece and caressed the outer surface. It was smooth, but rough where the jagged shell had broken off. She had stepped on it when she first found it, and a part of it had broken off.
He smiled, and began to feel the inside. Unlike the smooth outer shell, it was bumpy, rough, and plain. Black specks were splattered across the soil of the cusp.
His face fell, and he put the shell back into the case. He closed the glass door, but lingered. He traced the edges of the shell, and looked for just a little while longer.
There was a reason why he kept it in his box of memories, and not with him.
load more entries
writing since 2013 · 30 entries · 28 days shown up
each square is a day — lit means you showed up.
4longest streak
28days written
2entries / week
the words you reach for
doneheadanotherdirtyhandspressedagainstnoweyeshorriblecolorlightbrokendogreachbody