Short Stories

A Distant Memory

   The cold wind blew in my face, my hair whipping back as I soared. I dodged a plane, it's big, metal wings cutting through the air, and dived into a fluffy, white cloud. The wind held me up in the air, helping me to reach the sky, the stars, the universe. . .
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   I opened my eyes to cloudy Saturday, my room dark and gloomy. I rolled over in my bed, quietly listening to the sound of my family chatting, probably drinking tea with some graham crackers. I shut my eyes and imagined myself flying above the clouds, the cold wind still whipping against my face.
   I want to be air-borne. I want to leave this boring place and explore the skies...
   Sighing, I got up out of bed and decided to go for a morning walk. I put on a sweater with sleeves to long for my arms, its hood going well past my face, and pants that were furry on the inside. I decided to skip breakfast and silently went out the door, my parents oblivious to me leaving, too concentrated on their discussion about renting a new house. I walked down the pathway and towards the bustling New York City. I walked down a familiar winding path that led to an old, abandon house, its front steps all crooked and the chimney wobbling in the wind.
   I slowly went towards the abandon house and went up the old, creaking steps, stepping into a room with nothing but a couch in it. I walked to another room, the basement. Its walls were caked in dust, and abandon artifacts were left in boxes. I pushed a few boxes aside, revealing a secret passageway I remembered too well. I walked in, brushing my hand along the walls with unfinished tic-tac-toe games and drawings of people and animals. I reached the end of the hallway, a door looming over me.
   I was suddenly drowning in memories. Memories of finding the abandon house, the secret passageway, a new place to play hide-and-seek, a new friend. . .
   My hand slowly gripped the door knob, my lower lip quivering. I remembered coming down here often, drawing on the walls, cleaning the dusty furniture, laughing with him. . .
   I turned the door knob, my eyes starting to water. I ever so slowly opened the door, expecting him to be there, waiting to play hide and seek, or to finish a game of tag, or to tell me he was leaving. . .
   But no one was there, no one to read the newest book of of our favorite series with, no one to laugh endlessly with, no one to have fun with. . .
   Suddenly I was crying. I wanted him to come back. I wanted him to be here with me, to tell me he would come back to play tomorrow when he had to go home. But that was seven years ago, he's now 15, I'm now 14, and he's never coming back, he's to far away from here. . .
   "Chloe?"
   I looked up from my arms. I had sunk to the ground and huddled by the wall, silently weeping. Now I was on my feet, looking at the doorway.
   He was standing there.
   Right there.
   I dashed over to him and hugged him. We didn't say anything. We just cried tears of happiness, remembering the fun we had together, the games we used to play for hours on end.
   Our friendship wasn't a distant memory anymore.