I wake up to the sound of the mail slot opening and I get out of bed and walk over to the door. I yawn as I pick it up. It was another condolence letter from some relative I'd never met.
"Another one." I say as I toss it on my end table where I had a stack of other condolence letters I didn't care to read.
I went to my room and looked in my closet. I picked out my favorite royal blue knee length dress and put it on.
I went to the kitchen and made myself breakfast. I didn't like eating alone, but I was alone. I decided to go to our favorite spot at the park.
I got on my black boots and my dark grey cardigan. I closed the door hard behind me and ran down the few steps it took to get to the road.
I was walking for about ten minutes, until I got to the park. I walked trough the freshly cut grass, down to the bench by the pond.
He used to tell me stories when we were young, about mermaids that lived in the pond and all the water life they protected. My mind went back to tide perfect time...the times where we were care free and happy.
Those days were long gone, but the memories remain. I closed my eyes and pictured him, at age 15 and me at age 9, dreaming ourselves different realities.
"Mae?"I hear from behind me. An accent I can't forget.
"Daniel! Nice to see you again." I say as pleasantly as I can.
"Yeah the same to you. May I sit?" He asks me motioning to the bench.
"Of corse." I answer.
"You look lovely today." He says politely.
"Oh, thanks, I just grabbed something to wear."
"Well it's nice. Anyway what brings you to this wonderful park?"
"I used to come here with my brother." I say plainly.
"Oh nice, older or younger brother?"
"Older...six years older."
"Very nice. Where is he? Do you live with him? He sounds great."
"He was..."
"Oh...Mae I'm so sorry."
"Oh it's alright. He was fighting cancer for a long time."
"Oh...I'm sorry..."
"He used to tell me stories...we would come here and he would sit where your sitting and he'd tell me stories. About mythical beings that ruled the elements...of corse I never believe him, but it was nice."
"What was his name?"
"Peter..."
"What a wonderful person he must have been."
"The best of them all."
YOU ARE READING
Shattered Glass
Short StoryI stared at myself through shattered pieces of a mirror that was once whole...much like my heart. I don't know how long I stood there, just looking at my disoriented reflection. There were glass shards all around, and I didn't care to clean them up...
