This is my first ever short story on commaful, i don't know if it's good, but i hope you guys enjoy it ☺☺😊
The maddening monotony surrounding her life and the place she had always known was executing her psyche. The green enveloped her house, but blues and grays, were a major part of her existence. She lives alone, with the deafening silence of the tree she remembers planting, on her husband's grave 10 anniversaries ago.
It has grown into a gigantic beauty. Her window offers her a glance of this humongous giant from time to time. The fire, who has always been her accomplice these past frosty months, is here now again , to soothe her paining joints of unwilling old age. It crackles occasionally out of pity, perhaps, to render some sound to her solitude.
Sitting unattended, rocking lyrically, she rummaged her mind, for past memories; if her brain was kind enough to recall something: Her big pa, (oh how she loved to call her grandfather that) used to tell her stories, anecdotes and experiences of war.
He used to act all tough, holding a stick to her forehead, imitating a gun, making faces and giving voice of fire to a wordless twig. She recalled growing up, into blossoming young gal, no longer ignoring the blushing stares of men. She always felt good at the thought of someone admiring her.
Suddenly a memory of laughter resonated in her mind. She and her siblings, playing in the same garden which now was covered in a sad hush. It would be wrong to say that tragedy was a stranger to her.
This is the end of part 1, if you guys like it, let me know ☺😊 Thanks for reading 😁😁