Prompt no. 5!
Write a story of up to 150 words beginning: "If only I could remember..."
Post it in as a comment below!
Post it in as a comment below!
Bookmark by Bryan van Scoyk
The bookmark is the part that I keep coming back to, perhaps because I think that it is the thing about the whole incident that says the most about me, the only thing that means anything. The exact placement of the bookmark, the way that I precisely, if quickly, wedged it into the book so that the bottom edge cleanly revealed a line of text and its top edge protruded out of the book at its customary surplus of about 1.5 inches.
I was reading in the park, engrossed in a world very far from my own, but one in which I was reading a highly coincidental passage about a car accident. I’m sure that it means nothing that I was reading about an accident, but when I heard the bang of the collision, it was a shock to my mind as much as my ears. It was as though the life of the pages were playing out before me, and as I looked quickly up at the car accident coming to a stop only yards from the bench, I became very confused.
I was already in action of course, as the papers went to great lengths…
I was reading in the park, engrossed in a world very far from my own, but one in which I was reading a highly coincidental passage about a car accident. I’m sure that it means nothing that I was reading about an accident, but when I heard the bang of the collision, it was a shock to my mind as much as my ears. It was as though the life of the pages were playing out before me, and as I looked quickly up at the car accident coming to a stop only yards from the bench, I became very confused.
I was already in action of course, as the papers went to great lengths…
If only I could remember the first smile that lit up your face when your little hand got ahold of my fingers. How peaceful you looked, napping in my arms, so safe.
ReplyDeleteIf only I could recall the first words you pronounced, longing to tell me about the exciting new things you had seen.
All those memories are lost to me now, like an old movie that has faded away.
Instead, I see your broken skull- blood streaming out of it like a fountain. I hear your high-pitched voice cutting through the darkness of the basement, trying to explain where you have been. As the lights go on, I cannot help but stare at your hand reaching out for me, pleading for help. I can feel my fingers losing their grip of the cold steel of the gun, and fear evaporates into pain.
Wow.
ReplyDelete