114. Neighbors: Make up a story or poem about your next door neighbors.
When I was very little, there was a man who lived next door who grew flowers. My memories are vague amd indestinct, but I have a mental picture of him, kneeling in front of his flower garden with his spade in hand. He had a short beard.
I want to say his name was Jim.
Jim was always among his flowers. I never wondered at it when I was small, but I never had any recollection of him doing anything but tending to his yard. He had a young wife, but I only spoke with Jim.
When my parents would take us kids out to play, I alwys went over to Jim. There is no telling what we talked about, but we liked each other, Jim and I. He was my friend, and when you're little, you don't understand the beauty and simplicity of this, but now I do.
Every time I spoke to him, Jim would cut off some of his flowers and give them to me. I always gave them to my mother, and they would be in a vase and referred to as my flowers.
One day, Jim moved away. The people who moved in next removed his flowers and replaced them with more manageable bushes. I have never seen Jim again, and no man has ever given me flowers since he did.
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365 Days (Part 1) | ✓
Short StoryEach day of the year in 2016, I will be attempting to write a short story, using a prompt. It'll be wild and hard and who knows? I might even turn out some good stuff. Maybe you'll even want to do this too. (Dedications go to followers.) This is par...
