No response

Reads: 638  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 0

Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic

No response

I was picking the colourful, wild flowers around the farm, while the farm labourers were working hard in order to finish their work by the sunset. The sun shined down on the green bushes and made
them look like emeralds. Indeed, they were more precious than emeralds! They had the power to make small creatures feel safe, while hiding among them and the bigger creatures to move freely on the
top of them. The breeze whistled mildly around my ears. The blue sky and golden wheats, which could be seen everywhere from down to the top of the hills, created an amazing harmony, appropriate for
a masterpiece, an extraordinary painting. The sparrows were happily flying around the young and tiny saplings, which had been planted recently. Winter was coming and the weather was a little bit
chilly. My woollen jacket and the velvet scarf around my head, made me feel more comfortable and warm in that breezy day. I was thinking about tomorrow. Tomorrow, I was going to leave the village
and move to city to live with my uncle. I didn't have any other choice. I wanted to progress and become a successful doctor, so I had to leave my birthplace and all the sweet childhood memories, I
had in the calming shrubberies and stunning meadows. I remember how happy I was, while running and playing among the yellow and red tulips with my best friend, Jack. I knew I would miss him very
much. He was a part of my life. Whenever I looked at him, unwillingly his gestures and the way he stared at me, took me to the childhood times... As I was veiled into my complicated thoughts,
suddenly I heard a soft, yet manly voice, asking:"Is it true that you're going to leave the village?". I turned and saw Jack. He was around 25 years old, almost short and slim with light, wheatish
skin. He had dark hair, a big nose and almond, green eyes. He wasn't very handsome, but he had a good heart. He'd worn only a long sleeve shirt and cotton trousers and I wondered if he felt cold. I
left him with no response. He knew I didn't love him the way, he expected. I loved him just like my brother. But alas, I didn't talk to him... It was the last time I saw him... He died in a car
accident only a week after I left the village.

Submitted: January 19, 2018

© Copyright 2023 Happystarfish. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Facebook Comments

More Memoir Short Stories

Other Content by Happystarfish

Short Story / Memoir