MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “memories”

The dried-up creek

k-rawson

©Karen Rawson

It was an autumn morning without a cloud in the sky. It had been days since they had raised their gaze to so much blue. Today they were celebrating. It didn’t really matter what; there is always something to rejoice each day. So they decided to do something different. Life is only worth it if you take risks and believe you can succeed.

After what seemed like endless turns, they reached a forgotten stairwell that led to the remnants of a creek. It was muddy and dull.

This used to be a park. It was where I first saw you”.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

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A shop of memories

chicagomg

©Marie Gail Stratford

It’s strange how certain places, songs, things, are associated with specific people. Maira had that. Every time she visited the city, she would always drop by her favourite department store.

And every time it would bring back memories.

She had visited that store so many times with different people. All with whom she shared a special bond.

That bond was rejuvenated whenever she stepped through the big glass door.

Even if she was alone, she always felt that sweet melancholy of beautiful times passed.

And so, each time, she always bought something from there. As a reminder of the visit.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The box under the nightstand

https://i.pinimg.com/originals/2f/fc/0f/2ffc0f66ff6daa65af6bdfdd9de45066.jpgThere was a box she had in the open space under her nightstand. It was a usual cardboard box that seemed to be made out of wood and was beautifully decorated with colours and abstract figures. She treasured the box because inside she kept her happiness.

She had never shown the box to others. Sometimes, there are things you don’t share. Things you keep for yourself.

Those closest to her, who had the honour and privilege of entering her bedroom, always found that box under the nightstand to be a mystery. Because even when asked about it, she would simply smile, her eyes lighting up, gaze somewhere else, even blush a little, and respond with just a smile.

No-one ever tried to open the box. Because for some things you respect the other’s privacy. And often, a little mystery keeps your heart pounding a bit faster and your mind racing with all the possible scenarios of what it might contain.

The box under her nightstand was renewed often and she believed that as long as she would have something to put in it, life was good.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Mystery

A perennial embrace

tree-sandra-crook

©Sandra Crook

The last time she had been there she had climbed up its branches and hidden among its leaves, hoping the world would pass her by. As a young girl, she would always seek refuge there. The huge tree seemed sturdy enough to offer her the security she lacked at home. She would run away and hide there; but she would soon be found and had to return.

Until the moment she simply ran away from the town itself.

Now, years later, that tree was the only fond memory she had of her childhood. The only thing that offered her comfort.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The sound of rain on a tin roof

red-apple-rest-jhc

©J Hardy Carroll

Since they moved, they hadn’t been to their old neighbourhood. It had already been three years. They found themselves on their old street by chance, having taken a wrong turn.

It was still there, only seeming abandoned.

Their old studio. The one where they first met and became intimate. Where they shared their dreams and learnt about one another.

The one where they would crawl into each other’s arms to sleep on nights when their lullaby was the patter of rain on the tin roof.

Some sounds will always be associated to certain memories no matter how much time passes.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The palace of her heart

sandra-crook-1

©Sandra Crook

It was when she entered that building when she truly became a queen. That was the day her beloved partner taught her to dance the waltz.

It was at an official ball of the French embassy to which he had been invited as an external collaborator. She felt it was an honour simply to have been asked to escort him.

But he wanted more.

He always did.

And after their majestic-fairytale-ball, he did what every little princess dreams of: he fell onto one knee and presented her with a little black velvet box.

She had officially become his queen.

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The forgotten mansion

gateway-jhardy

©J Hardy Carroll

It was this time of year a few years ago when the mansion’s garden sprung to life as the flowers and tress bloomed, splashing the entire neighbourhood in colour and granting surrounding residents with a sense of renewed optimism.

The silver gate gleamed in the sunlight, and was almost always open, welcoming guests into this “hint of paradise”.

But then it happened. As if a dark cloud settled over the mansion; everything crumbled. The garden was abandoned in sorrow, and the gate was closed.

The mansion was now left deserted, with only the memory of the life that once was.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The secret of the clock

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/8b/21/73/8b217389a0dfee194b8779f5664126af.jpgWhen the house was silent, it was the only thing that could be heard. But even above the voices, its ticking sounded strongly, giving rhythm to the time that passed. It alerted its co-residents as to the time of day, the minutes and hours that passed by. But it also reminded them of that wonderful day when they first bought it and made it an intrinsic part of their home.

The couple that owned it was one that had already been together for half a century and continued to love each other as deeply, truly and wholly as the first day they met. The cuckoo clock was a souvenir from a winter holiday in the Alps. One where they fully enjoyed the festive season, the snow, the joy and the glow that the decorations brought along, and the carefreeness of becoming a child again. It served as a reminder that time is the moments you spend enjoying your existence.

As the cuckoo sprung out of its little home upon every half hour, the people of its home became all the more aware of how quickly time passes. Of how important it thus becomes to live every moment as it comes, to embrace the people surrounding you, to share the love in your heart, and to allow your subconscious to be without remorse and unfulfilled ambitions.

The cuckoo called out to them to live, and not just exist. Because it is the memories of a life well spent that fill our hearts with the energy to carry on.

 

Happy New Year, make it the greatest one yet!

Appleopolis

sliced-appleIt’s remarkable how the most memorable moments are created when you least expect them. For example, that specific day when Josh woke up with a headache that accompanied him throughout most of the day. He was suffering and felt that the day would be wasted unless he could get rid of this pain that was drumming his head. It was that precise day when his girlfriend had booked tickets for them to visit the new entertainment resort in town.

It was called Appleopolis because it had something very peculiar and particular about it. The main food on offer was apple slices. But not just any apple slices, they were cold, freshly cut, peeled apples with a stain of honey and traces of almonds. What was even more unique about them was that they brought out your other personality. Those traits of your character that you suppressed and kept subdued inside of you.

A few minutes after Josh had savoured these apple slices, he almost forgot about the headache he had and ended up enjoying the day to the utmost. He did not remember when was the last time he had laughed so wholeheartedly; when he truly allowed himself to indulge in the moment; to recharge with experiences; and to simply live the day for what it was – an opportunity to have a good time with a loved one.

By the end of the day, the headache was gone. And Josh was feeling rejuvenated.

Fruit – just like any moment – can be adventurous too, as long as you let yourself loose to experience whatever happens, without plans, without programming, without too many expectations.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Subdued

The rusty boat

boatpilxr_-antiqued

©Georgia Koch

It was left stranded by the lake. A wooden boat, which once hosted their dreams of a life together. It had been the seat of their soft embraces, their loud laughs and their endless conversations. Now all that was left was a reminder of what could have once been.

Constantine could not bear to let it go. He knew it was worse having it there, a daily reminder of her, knowing she would never return. But he simply could not part with it. He preferred the pain of remembrance than forgetting that he once had touched upon his heart’s desire.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

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