Fiction Friday - Broken Star
Moira sat on the rocking chair, wrapped in her shawl. It was Spring, and the warmth was returning to the air. Not enough for her old bones, hence the shawl, but the sunlight felt wonderful on her cheeks.
Sunlight, glinting off of something in the grass. What was that? Silver. Oh yes, a sheriff's badge. Moira smiled to herself. She had given that to Thomas for his third birthday. It came in a kit. Sheriff's badge, gun and holster, plastic fringed vest.
"Thank you, Gweat Gumma!", he had squealed in delight.
He couldn't say Gramma, but she liked Gumma. It made her chuckle actually, since she had lost her teeth and needed to gum her food. Out of the mouths of babes.
Of course, nobody was safe for weeks. The little devil was always leaping out behind chairs and arresting you.
"Hands up, Gweat Gumma! You under awest."
And she would throw her arms up in the air, at least as far as her ancient muscles would allow them to go. She'd plead her innocence, while he fixed her with a stern look. He insisted she march straight to the jail in the kitchen. The price of her bail was always a cookie.
The gun broke first. It snapped clean in half along the seam. Then he outgrew his vest. Boy, they grow so fast at that age.
But, Thomas continued to wear his badge with pride. Until the day his dad stepped on it and snapped off one of the points. Now the broken star lay in the grass, forgotten.
Forgotten. There was something she was forgetting. Something important. Such a terrible thing, an old mind.
Just then, the front door flung open, and a four year old whirlwind burst through.
"Morning, Thomas," Moira called out to her great grandson.
But he roared down the walk, without even acknowledging her.
"Kids!", she admonished fondly.
She watched him play in the yard, and tried to figure out what she was forgetting. Stars … broken stars … fallen stars … dead stars …
"Oh my!", she exclaimed, as it all came rushing back to her.
Margaret came out to the porch to check on her son. She smiled. Today was a perfect day for Gran to sit and watch Thomas play.
Turning towards the rocking chair, Margaret imagined she could actually see the old lady sitting there.
Photograph courtesy of Erin Todd.
Wow. You work the scene, emotions, interactions, and dialogue so well that I’m right there with these people. You have an incredible gift!
Ooo… I really like this one! Very nice descriptions and all.
I like! wow, it’s very good.
Hi Urban Panther. You tricked me! Well done. I had no idea until the end that this was told through the eyes of the grandmother who had already passed on. I really liked this.
Excellent writing, story telling and development. You packed so much into so few words. Thanks for sharing this with us!
My favorite line/part:
“He insisted she march straight to the jail in the kitchen. The price of her bail was always a cookie.”
Lori - thank you. I have always been very visual, so it’s a matter of writing what I see going on in my head.
RC - thanks. Stay tuned for more stories about Margaret and Moira.
CuriousC - interestingly, these two women are taking shape in my head. I actually see a book forming. It’s really cool.
Davina - oh good. Wasn’t sure if I had given it away with the ‘dead star’. Glad it worked!
Eric - I liked that part too. It was fun imagining Thomas leaping out behind chairs to arrest people.
who would have thought? :p Added a subscription to your RSS feed. Doing something very similar at this very moment.