A Compilation of Many Small Stories Running Around In My Brain

One So Young

It was a shame for one so young to be so mournful. 

The elderly man's bones creaked louder than the rocking chair he sat on. One hand rested on the mug of black coffee, balanced atop one armrest, the other clutched the arm of his chair, knuckles white. It was this dang girl, if only she would stop stressing him out. 

It was silly, he knew, to be so worked up over something that didn't affect him in the slightest. 

"Your feeble heart can't handle how much you care about other people, you'll give yourself a heart attack," His dear Lisbet would have said. A wisp of a smile crossed his face as he thought of his better half, gone to the Lord far earlier than seemed fair. Life was seldom fair, as the old man had learned.

She was crying again. He watched as she put her fragile head in her hands, and her little body quiver as she shook with silent tears. The old man watched the young girl mourn for a life she had not yet lost. 

He knew she was sick, but she had a fuller life to live than most. 

He watched the girl dry her tears quickly as a pickup truck pulled over, the heads of several young kids hanging out of the windows, calling for her to hop in. The girl pasted on her bravest smile and joined her friends. 

Off she went to pretend away her sadness and to smile without any real joy behind her tired eyes. 

The old man watched the pickup truck drive away, and shook his head. It was amazing to the old man how the young handled their problems. They pretend they aren't sick until they succumbed to it. They pretend they aren't depressed until they drown under the weight. They pretend they don't love people until they lose them. 

If only the young would live truthfully, live fully, live with intention. He wished he had. 

The old man and the rocking chair could have become one and the same, as he remained stationary whilst the sun rose, and began to set again. He wondered just how many times he had watched the same sun revolve around the planet. Did the sun get tired? 

The old man had little else to do than think back on better days, days when his bones didn't grind and he smiled easier. Days when his voice wasn't rough from disuse and he looked ahead instead of behind. 

This was why one must make the most of their youth, he mused wryly. When you're old and gray with only the comfort of your memories, is it not better to look back on life in joy and satisfaction instead of regret? 

The old man lifted his face up to the setting sun, feeling its' warmth on every wrinkle, every groove of his face. When she returned, he would tell her. 

She would never be this young again.