INNER VOICE
This was written quickly and hasn't been edited much since I hadn't planned on publishing it, but maybe we can "pick" it apart for fun. This is a good example of gerund overuse. I just can't help it :)
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While watching a television program and eating a cup of soup, I hear the rustling of leaves outside my little house. Pushing myself up from the couch, I stand slowly to check on the noise. There better not be any hoodlums out there, I thought. Hobbling to the large kitchen window, I peek out to the yard below seeing tree branches stretching and swaying to the wind as if dancing for the moon.And, there standing in a pile of leaves, I see a dark-haired girl with a porcelain like face illuminated in the moonlight staring back at me. Even from a distance, I recognize something familiar about her.
As I look around the yard, I’m hoping that I’m imagining things-not unusual a woman of my age. But, turning back, I once again have the little one in my sight. She looks as if she’s waiting for something or someone when suddenly she points in my direction and motions me with the wave of her hand as if to say, “come to me.”I squint to see her wave more insistently, and I take a step out the side door. What am I doing? I think walking out the door onto my old wooden deck and swinging open the squeaky door to steps leading me to her.
Breathing hard, I approach the little girl. My heart races like I’m seeing the birth of my first-born. Yet, I know this isn’t my child. As I stand only a few feet away, she sets her eyes upon me, and tears stream down her rosy cheeks.As the cool breezes blow through my thinning gray hair, for some reason, I sense we are long lost friends who have been out of contact for a long time.
“What do you want little one?
Are you lost? I ask pushing strands of hair out of my wrinkled face.“It is you who is lost.”“No, honey, I’m home. How did you get here?”
“You know.”
“I don’t know. Do you know where you live? Where do you belong?”
“You know,” the little girl replied.
I wrap my hands tight across my chest for warmth and to stop the goose bumps from spreading. She walks toward me-this little one who is only four or five years old. And she reaches for my hand with her tiny warm hand, soft like a baby’s bottom. And her young, smooth hand intertwines with mine, which is now old and hardened.
She and I walk across the yard smirking at each other like we can read each other’s mind. We see the playground at the school about fifty yards away, and this little friend of mine leads me down the sidewalk to the swings there. In the still of the night and with leaves falling all around us, we each hop on a swing pumping our legs back and forth reaching higher and higher like we’re trying to reach the moon. While in mid air, we glance at each other and giggle. And as I smell the crisp smell of dried leaves, I figure it out.
She stops swinging for she knows that I know who she is. Getting off the swing, she runs and jumps on me, hugging me. And not one of those polite hugs you give your Aunt, but the kind that takes your breath away. And as I gaze into her little hazel eyes that are just like mine, I say,“You are me, and I am you.”
“I am you,” the little one whispered.
“I needed to see you again, didn’t I? I had forgotten about your pureness and your free spirit. We parted ways many years ago.”
She takes my hand and leads me this time to the slide, and we climb up. She slides down first, and I go next feeling the wind rush over me as slide down. I smile. My heart leaps for joy as I plow into myself. We became one.Skipping little steps back up the hill to my house, I breathe in the cool damp air reminding me that fall is here, and as I walk through the dewy grasses of my yard, I remember everything about her. And, suddenly I am young at heart once again.
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Flash fiction Written by Lisa Braendle
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While watching a television program and eating a cup of soup, I hear the rustling of leaves outside my little house. Pushing myself up from the couch, I stand slowly to check on the noise. There better not be any hoodlums out there, I thought. Hobbling to the large kitchen window, I peek out to the yard below seeing tree branches stretching and swaying to the wind as if dancing for the moon.And, there standing in a pile of leaves, I see a dark-haired girl with a porcelain like face illuminated in the moonlight staring back at me. Even from a distance, I recognize something familiar about her.
As I look around the yard, I’m hoping that I’m imagining things-not unusual a woman of my age. But, turning back, I once again have the little one in my sight. She looks as if she’s waiting for something or someone when suddenly she points in my direction and motions me with the wave of her hand as if to say, “come to me.”I squint to see her wave more insistently, and I take a step out the side door. What am I doing? I think walking out the door onto my old wooden deck and swinging open the squeaky door to steps leading me to her.
Breathing hard, I approach the little girl. My heart races like I’m seeing the birth of my first-born. Yet, I know this isn’t my child. As I stand only a few feet away, she sets her eyes upon me, and tears stream down her rosy cheeks.As the cool breezes blow through my thinning gray hair, for some reason, I sense we are long lost friends who have been out of contact for a long time.
“What do you want little one?
Are you lost? I ask pushing strands of hair out of my wrinkled face.“It is you who is lost.”“No, honey, I’m home. How did you get here?”
“You know.”
“I don’t know. Do you know where you live? Where do you belong?”
“You know,” the little girl replied.
I wrap my hands tight across my chest for warmth and to stop the goose bumps from spreading. She walks toward me-this little one who is only four or five years old. And she reaches for my hand with her tiny warm hand, soft like a baby’s bottom. And her young, smooth hand intertwines with mine, which is now old and hardened.
She and I walk across the yard smirking at each other like we can read each other’s mind. We see the playground at the school about fifty yards away, and this little friend of mine leads me down the sidewalk to the swings there. In the still of the night and with leaves falling all around us, we each hop on a swing pumping our legs back and forth reaching higher and higher like we’re trying to reach the moon. While in mid air, we glance at each other and giggle. And as I smell the crisp smell of dried leaves, I figure it out.
She stops swinging for she knows that I know who she is. Getting off the swing, she runs and jumps on me, hugging me. And not one of those polite hugs you give your Aunt, but the kind that takes your breath away. And as I gaze into her little hazel eyes that are just like mine, I say,“You are me, and I am you.”
“I am you,” the little one whispered.
“I needed to see you again, didn’t I? I had forgotten about your pureness and your free spirit. We parted ways many years ago.”
She takes my hand and leads me this time to the slide, and we climb up. She slides down first, and I go next feeling the wind rush over me as slide down. I smile. My heart leaps for joy as I plow into myself. We became one.Skipping little steps back up the hill to my house, I breathe in the cool damp air reminding me that fall is here, and as I walk through the dewy grasses of my yard, I remember everything about her. And, suddenly I am young at heart once again.
###
Flash fiction Written by Lisa Braendle
posted by Lisa | 8:43 AM
2 Comments:
You are so right. I have a big problem with this, and I think it is easily corrected. I just like them so much :)
Thx for the Crit!
My last msg related to gerund (overuse)-I call it abuse ;)
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