Tuesday, February 26, 2013

A Short Story By A 16-year-old Me

Stumbled on this short story written when I was sixteen after the story came to me when I was going about the business of falling asleep. Here it is, in all its raw glory (with some minor corrections), dated 19th June 2004.

Blue Eyes
The sun had gone down and the moon had replaced it in the sky, laying rest its gentle moonbeams one particular hillside. Under the branches of a willow tree, a man lay lazily stretched out on the sweet-smelling grass. It had been a long day at work and his tie was in his pocket and he was staring dejectedly at the sky. His house was some ways down the hill but he wasn't yet ready to face his hectic household. It was then that it him, right on his cheek.
Rubbing his sore cheek, he picked up whatever it was and peered closely at it. The object was hard and smooth but oddly enough, it glowed as bright as the moon that night. Of all the rocks he had come across, none was quite as strange as this one.
As he pondered on it, he realized with a start that someone was sitting on the grass next to him. He turned slowly and met the pale blue eyes of a little girl. Everything about her seemed out of the ordinary, from her misty pale blue eyes to her old-fashioned frock. Was it a trick of the light or was her hair pale blue too? Her expression was solemn while his was mingled with surprise and wonder.
The girl stared at him intently before slowly holding her hand out pleadingly. The man understood what she wanted but was reluctant to part with his new found treasure. He clutched at the object as tightly as he could.  Glancing back at her, he detected an air of sadness about her.
Slowly, he placed his precious object into the palm of her hand. He didn't have the faintest idea why he did it but felt glad when she smiled gratefully at him. Almost at once, a swirly blue mist engulfed the willow tree and after it cleared, there was nothing. The man looked all around him but all he could see was the willow tree and a firefly whizzing above his head.
Dismissing the scene before him, pretending it never happened seemed like the right thing to do. With a shrug, he bent down to pick up his hat and suitcase. As he walked down the hill, he wondered if he had been working too much lately. Halfway down the hill, he stopped in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder at the firefly glowing brightly among the branches of the willow tree. His face broke into a smile and he strode off towards his home, whistling a happy tune and a spring in his step.

Afterthought: It's a tacky title, I know. I don't think I am capable of writing normal stories where nothing out of the ordinary happens. Much as I love Jeffrey Archer and his stories, they just feel too real to me. Why not embellish it a little like Edward Bloom?

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