Very Short Stories- A Collection

On Loss & Love

She took a whiff of it and savored its scent, for nothing lasted forever. Soon she would have to set aside the cloth and never experience its calming fragrance ever again. The memories with it, however, she would possess until the day she died.

Just like the day that her mother had died. It had been a bright and sunny Tuesday in September- the first day of school in fact. Everything seemed normal, just the same old routine she had left behind months ago in exchange for summer. Returning meant seeing old friends and making new ones.

And, unbeknownst to her, it meant losing one of the people she loved the most.

When she was picked up, she was thoroughly confused as to what was going on. The office had called her to be sent home, on the basis of a phone call specifying a "family emergency".

Five months later, the memory of it was all so vivid for her. Every sight, smell, sound, feel. The agony of waiting in the emergency room as her father and sister struggled to explain what had happened. Their mother had suffered a stroke, a devastating one, which claimed three-fourths of her functioning brain. She didn't want to believe it. Sitting there in the chaotic waiting room, she reflected on how different that day had turned out from her expectations of it. How sudden it all was. And how tragic.

She remembered the last labored breaths her mother had taken, each a struggle for one last moment of life. She remembered watching that same life pass out of her as she heaved her last, and how it had not been quiet and tranquil as movies and books made dying moments out to be. It had been obvious that her last few moments were filled with pain, as it tried its hardest to catch her one last time before she could physically feel it no more. Her soul had passed on, and her body was no longer hers.

Clutching the blouse, her daughter could still smell the scent of her perfume. It was light and floral, with hints of vanilla in it. It was the best fragrance in the world.

Memories of the one who had once worn that blouse swirled around in her mind, flashing in and out like the headlights of a car at midnight. One involved the girl and her mother snuggled in bed at her grandma's house, her small body nestled inside her mom's tender arms.

Another was of her and her mom shopping for her prom dress. It was brown and gold and sparkly, encrusted with rhinestones. Her mother had picked it out just for her, saying it "complimented her eyes."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she slipped the blouse back inside her box of her mother's things. In turn, the daughter picked up a pair of silver circular glasses and slipped them on. Her whole vision blurred, and her tears somehow found themselves on the lenses, but they seemed like the most beautiful glasses she had ever laid eyes on. If she squinted hard enough, she could just barely make out the details of the next item in the box. An old photograph, with her mother wearing those exact glasses. She really couldn't tell that it was that, she had just seen that photo a thousand times over.

Everything she had taken out was returned to the box, and the box was returned to its place under the daughter's bed. But their memories remained, no matter where she was placed.