The Handkerchiefs

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


Theodore Feillas had only seen his mother once in his life. He could not remember this special moment as he was just a newborn babe. They said that she was from a small village by sea. They said she had kind blue eyes, a warm smile and was a particularly skilled craftswomen with lace. Whether it was doilies, table cloths, wedding trains she was a master of her art. They said her blue eyes watered the day she gave Mr. Feillas away.

 

Theodore was now a man grown, in the middle of his days. He didn't know why he had just thought of his mother. Perhaps it was because the train he was travelling by had passed by the sea, or perhaps it was because the carriage across his, contained a mother with her children. He could not guess it, but he had some feelings of recollection and reminiscence.

 

The train had now entered the city, it pulled up by the station. As the crowd began to exit he noticed a small, elderly women struggling with her briefcase.

 

“Please madam, allow me,” he offered.

 

She looked up at him, her eyes shining like the sea. “Thank you dear.”

 

In one hand he took the briefcase and in the other she wrapped her hand around his elbow as he escorted her off the train onto the platform.

 

“Someone meeting you here?” he asked

 

“Oh no. I've got a layover” she explained.

 

Theodore assisted the lady named Virginia into finding her next train. As people started boarding the train,Virginia jumped in an eager rush to get on. So eager she was, she had completely forgotten her briefcase.

 

Once the realization had hit Mr. Feillas, it was too late. As the train had gone away, leaving it just a small spec. He checked the handle of the case to see if there was an address, but there was none. He opened it hoping to find some kind of identification. He could not find a clue of the woman's last name or address. Just a bunch of books, chocolates, raisins and handkercheif's. There was something about the handkercheif's that caught his eye. They were exquisite and done with such skill and a delicate hand, like a spider's web. The lace so fine, yet the patterns like tiles of the Taj Mahal, rung with precision and detail, each loop secure and strong. He looked at one of the designs; a sea was sewn in such vividness that it appeared as if one had transferred a picture onto the kerchief itself. He could almost see the artists view from where she once stood. He felt the waves spray on his face, the calmness of the hands that worked the lace. The blue of her eyes.

 

Theodore Feillas had only seen his mother twice in his life. Once when he was a newborn babe and the other when he was a man in the middle of his life.


Submitted: May 08, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Gabby12345. All rights reserved.

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