Short Story Saturday!

It’s hard for me to write about myself and then share it with other people. Sure I’ve put parts of myself into characters but that’s different. Not everyone knows everything about me and when I put small things like opinions or feelings in my writing someone reading it won’t always know. This is me using my safety net to break away from my comfort zone a little. Writing allows me to branch out and move forward, to grow. I’m thankful I’m a writer because it makes me feel good to write. Whenever I’ve had a rough day I can always go and write about it or just sit down and write something, and then I feel better. Writing is something that allows me to be creative and express myself. I’ve never considered myself a creative person or an artist but I’ve come to realize that there are many forms of artists; there’s painting, drawing, music, photography but mine is writing. Writing is the way I make something, and even though I rarely share all of it with people I still feel great doing it. Putting pencil to paper, fingers to keys, no matter what way it happens it clears my mind. When I write it feels like I’m taking words out of my head and putting them somewhere else. My mind is cleared and I feel better. I can escape from everything and dive into something else. I love how you can write about anything you want to. If you don’t want to be where you are in the moment you can put yourself on a beach somewhere or anywhere else you want to go. If I don’t want to be sitting at home, doing homework, I can take a break and write about being somewhere else. I could go anywhere with a piece of paper and pencil. I am thankful I’m a writer.

Short Story Saturday!- Little One

Right now you radiate sunshine, brighten everyone’s day. You’re innocent, and still dance around the living room in your footie pjs to the music in your head. Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny are all real. Eyelash wishes come true, dream catcher work, and everyone gets a happy ending. Daddy loves Mommy, Mommy loves Daddy, a big happy family. You live in a big house with a trampoline in the back yard. You’re surrounded by a horde of cats that let you dress them up and pull them everywhere you want. The world is perfect and at peace. There is no war. What even is politics? Your dreams soar at great heights. You want to be a farmer and cook for people with ingredients from your farm. You live off of late nights and Cocoa Puffs. Second graders can be mean, school is early, and sometimes hard. You’re past 2+2 and your reading level is higher than the rest. Chapter books are more fun than the books you have to read. Baby sitters are over rated. Why do vegetables even exist? Asleep before 9? Please. You’re 7 now that obviously means you need to stay up an extra hour or maybe two. You’re growing up but at least boys are still gross and pull your hair. Barbies are still your favorite toys. It’s still fun to color pictures of imaginary beings and put them on the fridge. Your height is documented on the doorway, and you ask to check if you’re taller everyday even if you haven’t grown. You will not say goodbye to your invisible friends for a little while longer. We all have a little longer where you still stand on our toes and have us dance around. I never want you to stop being little, no one ever does but someday you’re going to drive yourself to the movies, read bigger books, and live on your own. Someday the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus will be strangers. You’ll learn about war and the lack of peace we have. Footie Pjs won’t be your go to dance outfit and your pictures won’t decorate the fridge. It happens to everyone, and it will happen to you. Just don’t let it happen too fast, give us time to breathe.

Short Story Saturday!- Dear Reader

Dear Reader,

I’ve stood pretty still for most of my life. I like my home, and maybe that’s why I’m here for so long, although I don’t really know. Most of my days are spent in the same spot except the occasional, often exhilarating moment where I get to leave this spot and am fed the attention I constantly crave, the attention I need to survive. We all need it, all of us in this place but some more than others. Newbies get more of it, and feel it’s because they need it more than others. Oldies, like me, don’t get it much, we’re not new and shiny anymore. Kids don’t run to us with grubby hands eager to hear what we have to say. Even adults forget about us from time to time. It takes someone some time, and digging and even then they might look but decide on another. It’s rather suspenseful, and exciting but it often gets followed by disappointment.

During my younger days, I wished to spend more time in my home, I felt that I never got a break, no chance to breathe, but these days I long to be taken away. I want to feel my insides move! I dream about stretching out, bending my spine, feeling that sigh of relief after a good stretch. I need to ruffle out everything that’s gotten stale from sitting so long. Breathe in the fresh air, even if it’s not fresh! I don’t even care anymore, it’s different and that’s all I want. Different air.

It’s hard sometimes as the years go on. Getting fed less and less. I crave to be picked up, to have someone’s hands on me! I try my best to call out to any passerby but I’ve lost that voice I had long ago. It’s been so long since I’ve been held that I don’t think I remember what it’s like. Sadness hits me to think of it that way but it’s the truth. That feeling is lost, taken away by mountains of time. Time is hard to track from where I am but I’m sure it’s been awhile since I first got here.

I’ll admit, it gets rather lonely here on my perch. None of us can talk or move without the help of someone else. Our keeper occasionally moves us around, but all it does is change our view of the room but that’s not really what we desire. I have a great story to tell! I promise! iI just need people who are ready to hear it. I’m running out of options and I know what they do to things like us when we get old. I’ve seen it many times but I never thought it’d get to my turn. I know that we all have to go sometime, I’m just afraid that my story will get lost in the ocean waves of others.

I believe in my heart that other’s stories are equally important but mine is too! So, I’m begging you. Please don’t forget who I am. Don’t forget my story, it truly is a good one. If you remember then I know that there will always be hope. All it takes is one person to spread my tale like wildfire, and that’s all I am asking you to do! I believe in you!

Sincerely,

Just another book on a shelf waiting to be read.

Short Story Saturday!- The Blanket

A little girl skipped hand in hand with her Mother down the streets of Bar Harbor. They were leaving the playground and were on there way to Grandma’s house. It was just a few houses down from mine, I’ve seen them around town but they keep to themselves. This girl had a bottle dangling from her teeth and a blanket in her hand, her pigtails bobbed as she hopped down the street. She kept trying to run ahead but her Mother’s grip held firm. Although her mouth was full she continued to talk to her Mother. I could hear her giggles, they rang like a bird’s morning song all through the street. As they got closer, before we passed each other, I noticed more detail. Her blanket was lighting dragging against the ground. It was bright pink and had grey kittens on it. The edges were made of smooth, white silk and reflected the sun off of them. Her small fingers were holding on so tightly to that small blanket, I know she would never let it go. They turned the corner and I continued on my way home. We lived in the same town but I rarely saw her after that day.

A few years later I noticed her again, playing tag on the grass in the center of town. She no longer had a bottle between her teeth, she must have grown out of it, she looked to be about 5 or 6. As she ran her long, curly, blond hair trailed behind her but that wasn’t the only thing flowing in the breeze that her running had created. Her blanket was pinched under her arm playing along too. After a few laps around the gazebo she ran to her Mother and asked her to hold the blanket for her while she played. She passed it down to her with care, like putting down a really full cup of soup. I noticed that the blanket had aged. It was more faded, the pink was turning grey but I could tell that it was still the same blanket. The silk edges had a few holes and scratches. The white faded and you could no longer see the sun shine off of it. Then suddenly, I was snapped out of my daze as cries filled the air and before I could look to see what happened the girl’s Mother had already scooped her up. She asked for her blanket, her tone eager and demanding but her eyes were still filling with tears. Once the blanket was in her arms she rubbed it across her face, wiping the tears away. She held it to the side of her face and I could tell that it brought her comfort.

That was one of the last times I saw the blond headed girl with the pink, kitty covered blanket. I stopped seeing her around completely a few years ago. I imagine that she moved away sometime ago, and was living and growing somewhere new. Her blanket is probably stored away somewhere folded nicely maybe in her closet or tucked underneath her pillow. I know she wouldn’t let it collect dust, it’s too special for that. It’s going to be with her forever, no matter how faded or tattered but it needs to be kept well. The magic it’s given her still can reach her from whatever safe place it’s been stowed. That’s the comfort of having it near, just like when she fell playing tag on that brisk fall day. There will never be anything else that provides that kind of comfort for her. I imagine that it’s been with her through a lot, it’s one of her prized possessions. I don’t know where that little girl is now, I guess she’s probably not too little anymore, but I know that wherever she is that blanket isn’t far.