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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short essay/story of a dying man recollecting his once younger self.

Submitted: July 20, 2014

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Submitted: July 20, 2014



As the light of the new day spreads upon my face I look up, only to see that my view of the sky is hindered by umbrellas. I smile. I recall the happy moments in my life, the colours, and the vivid dreams of days gone by.


I walk through the forests surrounding my school in a past life. I hear the muffled sounds of playing children still running around the schoolyard, splashing around in the mid-afternoon rain. A hint of a smile creeps across my face as I too yearn for play, but my duties come first. I trudge along the dirt path with a light step until I see a glimpse of my house. I take a hop then break into a run. My umbrella thrown upon the ground.


The world around me spins and lights dart in and around my field of vision. I shut my eyes hard. When I open them again I see a town that I haven't seen in years. I weep tears of joy as I reminisce the many memories that were born out of this one place. I wipe the back of my hand over my eyes but to my surprise I feel no wetness. I am crying but not crying. I hear bells ringing to the left of me. But I don't turn. Memories rush into me as I recall the good and the bad, the happy and the sad. I walk down the wet road and onto the church. I close my umbrella as I enter the building. I hear the ringing of wedding bells as I walk out. I cry in happiness then cry in sadness as I watch over the grave. A black umbrella clutched tightly in my hand.


I wake to the sounds of children. I am confused. Then I recall that my grandchildren are here to visit me. The sky outside is dark and gloomy, the rain cascading down with relentless hostility but in this house it is warm. I get up to greet them and laugh loudly as I take their colourful umbrellas away to dry.


I open my eyes. Yes, the days before me are like a dream. Each umbrella hung above me remind me of my past. There is no rain. The sky is clear. Yet each umbrella radiates a warmth that cannot be found in any amount of fire. There is not a single black one to be found. I shut my eyes with a smile upon my face, happy to have lived.


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