A story once forgotten
A story once forgotten short story stories
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silveroak
silveroak Chase your stars fool, life is short
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A story about love and hope and memories. (random story that popped up in my brain.)

A story once forgotten

"Grandpa! Grandpa! Tell me another story," The boy shouted, jumping up and down while his arms bounced against the couch in an unsteady beat. "Alright, I'll tell you a story," the old man answered, lowering slowly onto the sagging, wrinkly couch cushion. He patted the spot beside him and the boy eagerly sat down, snuggling closer to the old man and wrapping his chopstick arms around one of the old man's

arms. Smiling, the old man reached his other arm over and ruffled the boy's sprawling tangle of blonde hair. "What will the story be about today, grandpa?" The boy asked, shifting his position to lean against the man. "Well, I thought I'd let you choose today," He answered, smiling down. The boy's eyes went wide and he grinned, his mouth open so you could see the few missing teeth. The old

man nodded, waiting for the boy to speak. Staring at the pile of dusty books atop the coffee table on the patio, the boy turned and said, "Tell me a story about . . . I don't know . . . a dragon, or about a big mountain, or something cool and old from the beginning of time." The old man's eyes lit up and he laughed, "A story from the beginning of time? An old story?"

"Yeah!" "Ok. . .let me just remember my favorite old story." "But you don't need time to remember. You must have been there when the story happened, so you know it all." "Haha, I'm not that old," The old man laughed,"Wait, how old do you think I am?" "Well...pretty old. Like a hundred or two hundred years old." The boy blushed when laughter

erupted from the old man's lips, but the old man stopped and turned back to him. "A story from the beginning. . ." Images raced through his head as years flew backwards and he found himself standing by a great oak tree in the center of a silver lake, the leaves on the tree pure gold and its trunk bronze with strokes of granite sunk deep into the sides. A woman sat, a leather bound book in her hands and her hair

flapping like the wings of a bird in the wind. Her face shone with the might of the sun, her eyelashes curved as though someone had painted them on with the thinnest brush. She turned and looked up at the sound of the old man's scuffled footsteps, smiled, and motioned for him to sit next to her. He wrung his hands and then slowly lowered himself to the ground. Though sharp rocks jutted out of the dirt, when he

sat it felt smooth and flat.The woman brushed her hair aside and as her hand passed over each strand, it turned a silky silver color. The glow of her face dimmed and wrinkles rippled outwards from her nose, soon covering her entire body. The old man felt a tear slide down his cheek, and he turned away, but the woman reached her hand out and turned his head to face her. His tears doubled, rushing forward

like a river of sadness, and he saw that she too was crying. She touched his face and then leaned in, her lips pressing onto his and sending a ripple of light down him, setting the ashes in his heart flickering upwards into a flame of love. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in for a hug that made him feel all the love in the universe pulsing between them. She moved her lips to his ear and let out a whisper like the

wind from the flap of a hummingbird's wings. "I love you." He closed his eyes and whispered back,"I love you too." Her body turned into a wisp of wind and blew away, and when he opened his eyes he found himself hugging the little boy. As he pulled away and leaned back against the couch he felt the tears still dripping from his eyes flow away. They flew into

one ball of glistening silver water and drifted through the air, stopping above the old stone fountain she had carved for him when they were young, using only her singing to slice away the sides and carve out the most beautiful patterns he had ever seen. The water splashed into the fountain, none of the droplets ricocheting off the sides, and the water ran once again. As the waterfall of silver filled the

once-dry fountain, the memories he had filled up his once-dry heart. His eyes creased and he felt happiness that hadn't shown itself for centuries. The little boy looked at him and somehow knew. "So, you are old enough to have seen those old stories happen." Smiling the old man pressed a finger to his lips and whispered,"Yes, but you have to promise not to tell anyone."

"I promise." The old man nodded and took a deep breath before opening his mouth to start the story. But as his hand moved to replicate the actions in the story, it brushed against the sides of a leather bound book. He stopped and picked the book up. It was the book she had been holding, the one he had always seen with her whenever he visited. He hesitated for a second, then flipped the book open. It wasn't

normal writing he saw on the page though, it was an image playing out. It was a memory she had made with him. His throat stung, tears threatening to once again spill over, but the world swirled around him and the boy before his sadness could erupt. The book turned into fluttering wisps of color and swirled to become part of the scene around them. They watched as all the memories of the woman and him together

played out in front and around them. The old man smiled, a genuine smile full of love, and wiped his tears away. "Here is the story. The story from the very beginning." ___________________________________ THE END (or the beginning)

Thanks so much for reading this story! Hope you enjoyed it. bye for now!

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