The day my father died, I watched my mother abandon me. It wasn't long before I convinced myself I hated her. I should've known it was love that clouded my eyes with tears, not hate. One has never grieved over the loss of an enemy.
One day I wrote to her. With a pen from my desk, I scribbled swiftly across a paper I knew she'd never see. At first, I thought my intentions were those of forgiveness, assuring her that all could be restored. But by the end I knew what I had written was far from anything so dignified- it was a plea. A desperate cry from a son to his mother.
I was tempted to slip it under her door but something urged me further, enough to open the door and face my greatest burden. Now as I look at her, it feels as though I'm staring at a photograph- a shadow of someone who once was, lingering now as nothing more than a memory.
YOU ARE READING
M E M O R Y
Short Story"Memory" is the result of a Flash Fiction prompt I was given in my English class. You have 850 characters (including spaces) or less to write an entire story arch with a beginning, middle, and end. There must be a problem or conflict introduced and...
