HELP ME FINISH THIS SHORT STORY……….
Calm replaced the chaos of his childhood home in the days following his mother’s passing. Seated on the edge of her bed he welled with emotion as he sifted through her things. All her earthly belongs now fell into three piles. Most would go to Goodwill, some for trash and some for keepsakes. She had lived a rich life for a woman who lived most of her life below the poverty line. Deep in the rear of her closet he discovered a box marked family photos. Within the stack of photos lay an image he recognized… the jet black eyes pierced his soul rendering him stone cold still .. and all at once he remembered….
The Bow Legged Blogger 
….. she had loved him with all of her heart in every way she knew how.
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That’s an ending I did not anticipate but love… Thanks
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He once was a male
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Ok that also was not the direction I would have thought this story would go but then again I can see your keying off the fact he is shouldering a weapon… pretty funny
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I was thinking something fun like ….He remembered this was the day he used the rife to hold up the neighborhood candy store. He filled his pockets full of tootsie rolls, candy sticks, atomic fireballs, Bit-O-Honey, candy buttons, candy necklaces, peppermints, Sugar Daddy’s, Pixy Stix’s, Mary Jane’s, Bottle Caps, Tootsie Pops, Hersey’s Kisses, chocolate coins and gum balls straining his suspenders to the breaking point… These were the things that made the girl whom he secretly loved smile the most.. He wanted her to smile at him that way … he did it for her … his unrequited love was the cause these desperate measures… In the end he knew if she accepted his gift the smile she returned may not be perfect..but over time with the help of his love and a good dentist all things would improve.
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Kellyn Campbell Nahas Wrote: And all at once he remembered the little boy who used to come spend every Tuesday with his family when he was a kid. It had been years since he thought about that boy, who was “What?” a year younger than himself. He wasn’t exactly sure how much younger the boy had been but he was sure he was younger because he remembered feeling the annoyance at having to play with and watch out for the little kid every week. Did his parents pay mom to watch him? Was he related somehow? He’d never know now. If only he had someone left today to ask, “Hey, do you remember the boy who spent one day every week with us for a whole summer? What was his name?” I wonder how he turned out? Did he remember me?
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Don Ferguson Nicely done.. I would never have imagined the story taking that route.. so many possibilities are brewing now in my imagination…both dark and funny.. I’m smiling the creative right side of your brain… Thank you
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The little girl, with the face of a cherub, staring back at him with deep brown eyes, to his blue, so dark that with the irisher eyes actuslly appeared black. Although her face, sprinkled like his own with sweet little freckles, made him think of the map of Ireland, as his father use to kid him, the little girl’s complexion was a might darker than his own black Irish skin tone.
He recalled meeting and playing with this young girl when he had just turned 5 years old. He remembered that two day period because his father was called away for a business trip and had been unable to be there for his birthday. He had been sad and missing his Dad, but had been intrigued by and happy to have a new playmate, even if she was two years his senior.
For forty eight hours, his birthday and the following day, as the flashback continued, they had walked, talked skipped and played with little effort and not the least bit feeling like the strangers that they were. Like playing with a fun but geographically distant cousin that you only saw once for a few days each Summer. And for those two days, he and his new playmate blended like they had been family and relished in each others companionship.
As he continued staring at the photo, still sitting in his Mother’s room, the moment that the tall dark skinned man arrived at the front door, at the end of that second day, came rushing back to him.
As he recalled that late afternoon visit by the stranger, and the hurried packing up of his new best friend’s travel bag, his eyes began to fill with tears similar to and reminiscent of the sobbing that he experienced the last time he saw Her face. The day she walked away from him, hand in hand with the the swarthy man unquestionably her father, and she turned back to look his way one last time, two large, single tears cascading down both her cheeks from those jet black eyes.
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Now that’s the kind of extemporaneous creative blarney one expects as a graduate of Mrs Mary Eisenhaure’s English class CHLS 1973…Well Done Davey! Thank you
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Ferg, hello again. Just checkin back in; the only part of your story that I saw on your page, started with the son sitting on the edge of his Mother’s bed. Was there more story before that, or were you just looking for folks to add on to that short lead in? I hope you are having fun with this project and thanks for allowing us to participate.
Please let me know if I missed something. Thanks. Have a nice evening. Best
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Dave, Yes, yes, yes… the object was to invite others into the creative process. I love it when the left brain rolls out the freaky flag and lets it fly… Cantabrigian’s like you have it in their DNA.. let’s try to wake up those sleeping giants..
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