Inspiration through photos, writing, & quotes
In one of my writing classes, we had to write a short story. Here is mine. (It’s a true story too!)
It was three years ago, but I still hold this memory in it’s purest form. I was trying to hold back my fear, but it was probably quite evident it was still building. He took my hand and placed it on a solid object, which I certainly could not identify with that blindfold on. It felt cold, coarse, and had all the makings of a rock. I felt my bones shiver as a gust of Autumn wind swept through. I heard the sound of brittle leaves falling from above. I was terrified, but absolutely intrigued at the same time. I sat cold and dumbfounded, just trying to find the meaning in all of this. Him and I sat in the grass as he told me a story I’d never forget.
“She was a beautiful woman, with a head of silky blonde hair. She stared through the softest eyes, and had a smile that would melt your heart. Her thin chapped lips made up a gentle smile. The scent of cherry chapstick and chocolate always filled the air surrounding her.”
I began to picture this woman in my head, and immediately felt warmth.
“She was caring and thoughtful to anyone and everyone that walked into her life. I can rarely recall her raising her voice, not that I would mind. I miss her carefree tone and everything else about her. She was always thoroughly involved with our lives. Whether it was homework, school conflicts, or internal struggles; she was always there to help. All six of us were constantly reminded that she lived for us. She was consistently striving to be the best mother she could be. And she was. I am a better man because I knew her. I can still feel her sculpting me in to a better person.”
Fear escaped me. I finally felt comfortable. My hand remained content on the object and he slowly removed the blindfold.
“I want you to meet my mom”
It was dark and my eyes were still adjusting. In those few moments of uncertainty, I tried to piece together the puzzle. Using my eyes, I traced my arm all the way down to my fingertips. It was a tombstone. I read to myself, “loving mother & wife”. I offered Scott a sympathetic hug as I fought back tears. I spoke softly to her grave.
“It’s nice to finally meet you. You raised an outstanding son.”
It sounds crazy, but I felt like I could have spent hours in that cemetery. I felt warmth overcome me as I stood there on that brisk night three years ago. It felt like I had known this woman my whole life. I thanked my friend for letting me meet his mom. He gave me the same gentle smile he described as his mother’s. Suddenly, a sweet scent filled the air. It smelled of cherry chapstick and chocolate.