Hey all. I started writing a story a while ago that marked events in my life, both good and bad. It's a multi part continuation of current happenings. I figured I would share the story in installments. Here marks Part 1:
Before I left the door, I had grabbed my hoodie. Although it was only moderately chilly out today, I wanted this walk to be calm and pleasant. I had crossed the road, zipping up the shirt. The soft lining seemed to float ever my skin skin much like wispy clouds in the sky today. It was very bright, the suns rays exploding out of the sky as if pretending to be a raging volcano. A slow chilly wind had enticed me to pull the hood over my head. Looking down, I smiled as the familiar sight of the Horde shone a blood red from the shirt. As I started the old logging road, I closed my eyes to breathe this crisp, autumn air. So refreshing, and invigorating. I smiled as it brought memories of Halloween as a child.
The front lawn at my Grandmother’s house. My little sister Brittney and I raking for what seemed like an eternity to gather a huge pile of leaves. Fighting with a monstrosity of a rake to gather these crispy little gems. I can remember how it felt to jump in what seemed like a lake of leaves. Drowning in a smell of damp earth, feeling the dew drops kiss my cheeks as I exploded out from within the pile, with the biggest grin on my face. All to rake the few escaping leaves back up to do it all over again. I can remember the squeals Brittney made as her turn came around. I smiled brightly as her face shown with excitement. She would hobble disgracefully over to topple into the small pile. Echoes sounded from within, that grew quieter as more leaved piled on top.
I continued on, strolling casually along the beaten path, that had once been a thriving forest. The smell of pine and spruce hung in the air. Thick like smog, but dainty like perfume, the scent took over my senses. I sat down to gather this beautiful smell, tracing small circles in the earth, a part of my life flashed before me.
Christmas. The tree had been searched for, cut down, and now was placed magnificently in our dining room. As the tree warmed up, it seemed to stretch as if it were an athlete preparing for a run. Filling the house with a spicy aroma, my mother brought out doughnuts and apple cider. We had a giant box of decorations, most of which have been around for as long as I can remember. I reached in, pulling out a bag of neatly organized fat little santa ornaments. I laughed as we joked about the many generations of cats that had battled them off of the tree, and had made off with their “killâ€. Although some had shown signs of tooth and claw wear, most still wore their cheery little smiles. To stand back and see the tree in it’s glory was breathtaking. Even more amazing is that I can count every Christmas as a whole family event. Every member had participated in making it this wonderful, and I counted blessings to this day to still have them.
I had gotten up and made my way around a bend in the trail, and had faced a giant hill. This was no ordinary hill. Climbing this thing gained you some self respect. To most on a hike, this meant great cardiovascular activity. To me, at least on this day, I saw it as a metaphorical struggle. When I started climbing, my lungs burned. My body grew weak, and my knees had become gelatin. This is the hardest part of the trail. Usually, at this part I would turn around and return home. On this day, however, I am going to overcome it. As I started thinking, I had to sit down to catch my breath as one of the hardest struggles i my life came into focus.
I was sitting on a suede brown couch. The smell of laundry detergent lingered in the air. My Nana came into the living room with her family famous potted meat sandwiches. She had made lunch for the two of us, setting mine on the coffee table in front of me, and hers on a lamp stand beside her favorite cozy chair. She had grabbed the remote and switched on some cartoons. Dexter’s laboratory. I can even name the episode to this day. As Deedee made one of her many filed attempts at breaking into her brother’s lab, we struck up a random conversation about life. As we talked, an aura had surrounded her. A glow I had never seen before. Something about her had made me so happy. I trusted her with every word I spoke. Every deep secret I told her had been inscribed within her heart like a mystery book.
I had sat there smiling at the memory, my breath steadying as a woosh of spruce had ripped through my nasal cavaties. A found memory it had brought just moments ago, now brought on a daunting eery feeling. I looked back down at the many pine needles littering the forest floor, as the memory kicked me in the face.
My mother and I had sat accompanying Nana at the nursing home. A smell of Pin Sol had filled the air. I listened as she spoke, a plea had filled her eyes. I watched as her weakened, tired body begged her to take it easy. My hero sitting before me, frail and weak as I have ever seen her. Though pushing though fire as if it were mere cotton balls. She had always refused to give up without a twelve round fight.
They say every boxer has a bad day in the ring. Every flower will start to lose it’s beautiful petals. Even the most perfectly constructed buildings will someday fall. Today this had stood true. Today my hero had fallen. My whole world had collapsed. My heart, my soul, had been torn out through my ribcage, ripping the very life out of my body. Tears burn like fire as they fell like stars from eyes. As they slid down my face, they turned icy cold, before dropping to be consumed by the earth below. I looked to the sky, as if there were some way I could sift through the clouds to find her and bring her back. I wanted so badly to feel her soft warm skin to kiss me gently on my cheek again, to feel her love rushing through my skin as she hugged me. To bite through a tasty potted meat sandwich that only tasted that good because she had prepared it. Instead, however, I have to say goodbye. I have to let God feel the tender love she gave. I have to let Him selfishly keep her to Himself.
Before I left the door, I had grabbed my hoodie. Although it was only moderately chilly out today, I wanted this walk to be calm and pleasant. I had crossed the road, zipping up the shirt. The soft lining seemed to float ever my skin skin much like wispy clouds in the sky today. It was very bright, the suns rays exploding out of the sky as if pretending to be a raging volcano. A slow chilly wind had enticed me to pull the hood over my head. Looking down, I smiled as the familiar sight of the Horde shone a blood red from the shirt. As I started the old logging road, I closed my eyes to breathe this crisp, autumn air. So refreshing, and invigorating. I smiled as it brought memories of Halloween as a child.
The front lawn at my Grandmother’s house. My little sister Brittney and I raking for what seemed like an eternity to gather a huge pile of leaves. Fighting with a monstrosity of a rake to gather these crispy little gems. I can remember how it felt to jump in what seemed like a lake of leaves. Drowning in a smell of damp earth, feeling the dew drops kiss my cheeks as I exploded out from within the pile, with the biggest grin on my face. All to rake the few escaping leaves back up to do it all over again. I can remember the squeals Brittney made as her turn came around. I smiled brightly as her face shown with excitement. She would hobble disgracefully over to topple into the small pile. Echoes sounded from within, that grew quieter as more leaved piled on top.
I continued on, strolling casually along the beaten path, that had once been a thriving forest. The smell of pine and spruce hung in the air. Thick like smog, but dainty like perfume, the scent took over my senses. I sat down to gather this beautiful smell, tracing small circles in the earth, a part of my life flashed before me.
Christmas. The tree had been searched for, cut down, and now was placed magnificently in our dining room. As the tree warmed up, it seemed to stretch as if it were an athlete preparing for a run. Filling the house with a spicy aroma, my mother brought out doughnuts and apple cider. We had a giant box of decorations, most of which have been around for as long as I can remember. I reached in, pulling out a bag of neatly organized fat little santa ornaments. I laughed as we joked about the many generations of cats that had battled them off of the tree, and had made off with their “killâ€. Although some had shown signs of tooth and claw wear, most still wore their cheery little smiles. To stand back and see the tree in it’s glory was breathtaking. Even more amazing is that I can count every Christmas as a whole family event. Every member had participated in making it this wonderful, and I counted blessings to this day to still have them.
I had gotten up and made my way around a bend in the trail, and had faced a giant hill. This was no ordinary hill. Climbing this thing gained you some self respect. To most on a hike, this meant great cardiovascular activity. To me, at least on this day, I saw it as a metaphorical struggle. When I started climbing, my lungs burned. My body grew weak, and my knees had become gelatin. This is the hardest part of the trail. Usually, at this part I would turn around and return home. On this day, however, I am going to overcome it. As I started thinking, I had to sit down to catch my breath as one of the hardest struggles i my life came into focus.
I was sitting on a suede brown couch. The smell of laundry detergent lingered in the air. My Nana came into the living room with her family famous potted meat sandwiches. She had made lunch for the two of us, setting mine on the coffee table in front of me, and hers on a lamp stand beside her favorite cozy chair. She had grabbed the remote and switched on some cartoons. Dexter’s laboratory. I can even name the episode to this day. As Deedee made one of her many filed attempts at breaking into her brother’s lab, we struck up a random conversation about life. As we talked, an aura had surrounded her. A glow I had never seen before. Something about her had made me so happy. I trusted her with every word I spoke. Every deep secret I told her had been inscribed within her heart like a mystery book.
I had sat there smiling at the memory, my breath steadying as a woosh of spruce had ripped through my nasal cavaties. A found memory it had brought just moments ago, now brought on a daunting eery feeling. I looked back down at the many pine needles littering the forest floor, as the memory kicked me in the face.
My mother and I had sat accompanying Nana at the nursing home. A smell of Pin Sol had filled the air. I listened as she spoke, a plea had filled her eyes. I watched as her weakened, tired body begged her to take it easy. My hero sitting before me, frail and weak as I have ever seen her. Though pushing though fire as if it were mere cotton balls. She had always refused to give up without a twelve round fight.
They say every boxer has a bad day in the ring. Every flower will start to lose it’s beautiful petals. Even the most perfectly constructed buildings will someday fall. Today this had stood true. Today my hero had fallen. My whole world had collapsed. My heart, my soul, had been torn out through my ribcage, ripping the very life out of my body. Tears burn like fire as they fell like stars from eyes. As they slid down my face, they turned icy cold, before dropping to be consumed by the earth below. I looked to the sky, as if there were some way I could sift through the clouds to find her and bring her back. I wanted so badly to feel her soft warm skin to kiss me gently on my cheek again, to feel her love rushing through my skin as she hugged me. To bite through a tasty potted meat sandwich that only tasted that good because she had prepared it. Instead, however, I have to say goodbye. I have to let God feel the tender love she gave. I have to let Him selfishly keep her to Himself.
(i sound like a teacher) hehe
