The Book Of Randomness

Short Story #1

The following is a short story that I wrote for English. It is inspired by the war poem Homecoming by Bruce Dawe.

Hope you like it 🙂
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Memories Of Him

I smoothed out the crinkles in my satin black dress with lacy elbow-length sleeves as I stood in front of the mirror in my room. I saw my mother walk into the room while my eyes were still focussed on the mirror.

"You look beautiful Natasha, your father would think so too." Her soft voice stated as she placed her hand on my right shoulder.

My mother's hair was tightly pulled back into a neat bun held with a butterfly clip and her expression as blank as a piece of paper. Her outfit was made up of a pencil skirt with a hem that ended above the knee, a simple black shirt with a leather jacket father gave to her when they were young.

She grabbed my hairbrush that was lying on the dresser top and began to brush my silky, ebony hair.

"Why did he have to join the war?" I asked in a voice slightly louder than a whisper as my eyes glanced to the picture of him and my mother holding me as a child.

"He was a great man and wanted to fight for our country." She replied as she placed the brush down and began to braid my hair. "He missed out on seeing you grow into the beautiful woman you are today. If I had the chance to stop him from signing up, I would."

"I never got to know him." My voice wavered as my eyes became blurry with tears threatening to fall.

"He would be so proud of the woman you are Natasha. He almost made it through the whole war." She commented, softly rubbing circles in my back.

"I wish he made it all the way." I whispered as my mother finished braiding my hair and brought me into an embrace.

"The service is almost about to start." She softly spoke.

As we walked to the cemetery for the service, my mind drifted off to when we first found out about the loss of my father.

The phone rang throughout the house, it had rung three times before my mother picked it up. She opened with a graceful and happy voice with a toothy grin, and after a few seconds, her expression dropped as quick as a flash of lightning. After another minute of her standing by the phone, she cautiously hung up and looked numb as salty tears ran down her face.

"Are you okay?" I asked as I began walking towards her.

"I-it's your father," she murmured. "He was shot, and t-they couldn't save him."

I wrapped my arms around her and brought her close. Tears slowly making their way down my face as I couldn't believe the news I just heard.

When we arrived at the tarmac, waiting for the plane, we were gathered with other families waiting for their loved ones as they were crying their hearts out. The plane landed and men took place as they waited for the signal to reunite families with the fallen soldiers.

A commander walked towards us and took off his cap, holding it over his heart.

"I am sorry for your loss. Your husband and father was truly a great man whose time passed too early." He commented.

"Thank you." I spoke for my mother as she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

After the burial, I strolled over to the photo albums where I sat in a cushioned seat with the album on my lap, as I looked through the photos and memories of him that were trapped in time forever.