Hey there Readers,
Every once in a while, I’ll get an idea for a random scene or a random story beginning, so I thought I’d write a couple of them down and show you.
The first time I saw fireworks, I was six years old. It seemed as if we were at war with the night, sending bursts of raging swirls to combat the icy blackness that threatened to swallow us. I watched the war that raged between man and nature.
The colors bloomed across my vision, sending bright spots dancing across my eyes like wayward fireflies. I heard cheering but it sounded muted, having become white noise to the explosions that littered the sky like confetti on a dirty street.
I think it was those bursts of color, streaming fearlessly to combat the inky dark that I was told was where the monsters and bogeyman lived that first inspired me to be great.
Other people have heroes, but I just had fireworks.
The lights flickered on and off, reflecting off the slightly bruised watermelons in the cart. The odd chatter floated through the air, clashing with the loud Taylor Swift single playing.
I suppose it was an ordinary day, but I thought something could happen. Something always does, doesn’t it? Something odd that makes us wonder and marvel.
I guess you could say I live for these odd moments, these conversations, the things that make this world seem more alive, more colorful for a brief moment.
Today, my burst of color was a conversation. Tomorrow, it could be a person.
Who really knows?
Laughter, the smell of hot koolaid, and an impromptu reading of “Phantom of the Opera” filled my senses as I looked in the mirror at my dyed hair.
A frantic phone call, worried I had messed it up, only to hear a reassuring low voice on the other end. All was well, I was forgiven, and it ceased to exist.
Cold snow fell, dewy on her black hair as she stood and laughed at the world that had scorned her for so long. It was not a bitter angry laugh but a laugh of pure joy, of knowing what and who she was. She was not afraid anymore. What was there to be afraid of?
For she was loved.
I met him on the old playground, remembering days spent there as a kid. He sat beside me on the swings without a word, the rusty chains squeaking under him as he sat on the cracked green seat.
“I heard about your friend…” He said, his brown eyes wide with sympathy that I don’t know if I wanted to see or not.
I sighed a little, determined not to cry this time. “Yea.”
“I’m sorry.” He said, looking back down at his feet. Mine still dangled. Cons of being short, I guess.
“So am I.” I finally looked at him, standing up and he followed.
He hugged me as I cried.
I held him tightly before handing him back to his mother after cleaning him up, looking down into his baby blue eyes and soft black hair, knowing that this was a miracle.
“You’re a mother now.”
She cried and I held her hand as she smiled at her new baby boy.