TUMBLR-Inspired One-Shots

A Compliation of Six-Word Stories

Saw these on Pinterest. I presumed them to be separate, but a small story is able to be woven with them. In addition: The views conveyed by the characters do not directly reflect my own in any way. They were necessary for the development of the story. Also, the events written about in the last two sections are by no means totally and completely based off of actual events. If anything, they are based very, very loosely off of them and very, very loosely off of other events bearing the same general term. Also, this has not been read over, so I apologise for any continuity mistakes especially.

Note: It's so hard to write this.

"The smallest coffins are the heaviest."

He had a brother.

It's quite a depressing story, Gavin's. He was only ten days old- I most definitely remember that. Not enough to truly realise what he was, or even how he was, per se, but old enough for the parents to be irrevocably attached. It was difficult watching them mourn the loss. The baby had had a VSD- a condition which, in layman's terms, meant that he had a hole in his heart. His spirit was so clean. It's such a shame.

Meanwhile, the five-year old child, now, had no idea what was happening. That was an intentional move by the parents, although I do think that it may have been smarter to tell him. Not the full truth, necessarily, but rather half of the truth. At least, it would have been better than all the questions of, "Mummy, Daddy, where's the baby? Where's my baby brother? I thought he was going to come home today, Mummy, because... Because you came! Where is he?" Like I said, watching the parents mourn the baby's departure to me was difficult, but watching the child, Griffin- that was infinitely harder.

"Dad left; a flag came back."

Griffin grew. He grew forced to be a little wiser than he should; forced to know how to deal with death. Gavin's photos on the mantle stared at him every day, constant reminders that he died innocent- unable to know the world. There was a war being fought in Afghanistan at that time- ah, what a laborious time it was for me. Laborious, but still never comparable to your World War II. It's such a stark contrast between the two- war and innocence. One is helpless; the other is hungry for endless power- and it was willing to suck anyone and everyone it could into it.

The time came for Chris, the father, to be deployed. Ten-year old Griffin and the mother, Courtney, waved, hugged, and kissed him like they'd never see him again.

Five months later came a "cordial invitation for the funeral of Col. Christopher Anderson."

From my perspective, he had an honourable death. He died shielding his troops from a grenade, curling around it himself in an effort to provide a buffer for the blow. It worked, but he was still gone. Picking up his soul was surprisingly quite easy; you'd imagine that a man with those sorts of expected burdens would be weighed down with them. He wasn't.

Instead, his soul was filled with hope, love, and all other things associated with family. Cliché, I agree, but the point still stands.

When the "cordial invitation" arrived, glasses were dropped by both parties, young and old, and promptly shattered. Though, neither glass had fragmentalised as much as the souls holding them.

"Strangers. Friends. Best Friends. Lovers. Strangers."

As I remember it, Griffin's experimentation with dating began at the ripe old age of twelve. The sky was an orange-pink combination the night of his first "date". I accompanied, just in case. His "date"- as he called it privately- was at the local trampoline park, and the mothers and the children were attending. As far as his mother and Ashli (a strangely spelled name, yes, but one that most definitely does not need commentary) were concerned, they were only "hanging out", not at risk to hug or kiss engage in anything physical. Besides, the siblings had been invited too, so there was nil chance that any of the boy's fantasies would come true.