Short Story
- Submitted by: JennyxN
- Views: 854
- Category: English
- Date Submitted: 10/05/2010 06:20 AM
- Pages: 4
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She stood timelessly. Deep inside my pocket, I fidgeted with its steel frame, slowly lifting and carefully hiding it beneath my other palm, the coldness of both entities mingling with the raindrops. Her body swayed dangerously near the cliff’s edge - her eyes focused on the shimmery sea of lost memories, mind drowned in the murkiness of merciless guilt. I uncovered the entity and steadily raised it to her back, to unchain her from this world...
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Maria Meier. A lost little child who was robbed of her most precious blanket. They say as time pass, people grow. But it seemed as though she wanted to escape the burden of maturity - to retain a sense of false innocence and remain oblivious to family and friends who could no longer sacrifice their life to stay in her world.
I’ve watched men plant roses at our doorstep, their sweet lyrical words lingering down our hallways. I’ve seen her play human, her make – up cloaking the indifference she felt of their approach. When the moon of festivities paled its shine, she’d come back with the same dull expression etched on her face. With the superficial mask removed, tired wrinkles began to deepen, her lips no longer upturned, her eyes dull. Sometimes, she reached inside the cabinet and pulled out a small framed image of her younger self, glorious and graceful in her former nature. As she reflected, minutes passed, leaving wet crystals of recollection sprawled on her face.
She’d always wear this particular, overcast brown coat lodged with deep pockets hidden inside. It reeked of age, retaining decades of memories. The gems sleeping between those fibres were untouched. Yet the items budged out of the pocket like an unhinged door. The temptation was simply irresistible. The door had to be opened.
One day, when she went on her daily routine, i decided to grab onto the chance. Inside the coat, my hand antique silver pocket watch, slightly tarnished by the passing of time. The hands had stopped...
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Maria Meier. A lost little child who was robbed of her most precious blanket. They say as time pass, people grow. But it seemed as though she wanted to escape the burden of maturity - to retain a sense of false innocence and remain oblivious to family and friends who could no longer sacrifice their life to stay in her world.
I’ve watched men plant roses at our doorstep, their sweet lyrical words lingering down our hallways. I’ve seen her play human, her make – up cloaking the indifference she felt of their approach. When the moon of festivities paled its shine, she’d come back with the same dull expression etched on her face. With the superficial mask removed, tired wrinkles began to deepen, her lips no longer upturned, her eyes dull. Sometimes, she reached inside the cabinet and pulled out a small framed image of her younger self, glorious and graceful in her former nature. As she reflected, minutes passed, leaving wet crystals of recollection sprawled on her face.
She’d always wear this particular, overcast brown coat lodged with deep pockets hidden inside. It reeked of age, retaining decades of memories. The gems sleeping between those fibres were untouched. Yet the items budged out of the pocket like an unhinged door. The temptation was simply irresistible. The door had to be opened.
One day, when she went on her daily routine, i decided to grab onto the chance. Inside the coat, my hand antique silver pocket watch, slightly tarnished by the passing of time. The hands had stopped...