Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion

note: This topic has been closed to new comments.
36 views
Weekly Short Story Contests > Week 49-(July 15th-22nd) Stories----Topic: Birthdays! DONE!!

Comments Showing 1-32 of 32 (32 new)    post a comment »
dateDown arrow    newest »

message 1: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) yey!! birthday!!!


message 2: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) aw... the story i used to illness would have been perfect for this one... but i already used it... darn


message 3: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) haha... ya ill work on that soon


message 4: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) uh huh


message 5: by [deleted user] (new)

Hi all,
This is not an entry, but I thought it might amuse you, it's taken from my daughter's Facebook Wall a couple of days ago, Hannah is 6:

Mummy to Hannah : Do you know who's birthday it is tomorrow?
Hannah: No
Mummy: Mummy's
Hannah: Oh, when is your party?
Mummy: Oh, I'm not having a party...
Hannah: But Mummy, how will you get older if you don't have a party?


message 6: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) haha... thats funny...


message 7: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) i think this sorta sux... 'don't drink alcohol on your 18th birthday and drive kids! its dangerous and illegal!'

Name: 18
Word Count: 906

I woke up. Oh my God... It’s my birthday! I rolled out of bed and went downstairs to be greeted by the smell of chocolate chip pancakes, my favorite.
“Hey birthday girl!” My mom said. “No excuse me. Birthday woman! I can’t believe you’re finally an adult.” I smiled as her eyes watered a little.
“It’s okay Mom.” My mom’s single, my dad left us when I was 6. She hugged me.
“Soon you’ll be in college!”
“I have a few more months, Mom.”
“But it’ll still happen!” She smiled proudly at me.
I smiled and sat down. I poured syrup on my pancakes. After I finished I went to the bathroom to look at myself. I didn’t look any different. Same brown hair that goes a few inches over my shoulder. Hazel eyes that caught everything. Full lips, high cheek bones. I sighed when I remembered I still had to go to school, at least it was Friday. I quickly changed into jeans and a white t-shirt. I shoved my socks on and walked to my moms old, beat up, white, Toyota. I put the key in and backed out of the car onto the driveway and drove to school.
At school I was greeted with a off-key ‘Happy Birthday’ song from my friends and laughter.
“Hey, Miss Bulard!” My boyfriend Charles said laughing. I gave him a quick kiss.
“You call me that and I’ll dump your sorry butt!” I said laughing. He fake punched me.
“You know I’m kidding Cass.” He gave me a kiss.
“Ug! Get a room!” My best friend Julia said shielding her eyes but peeking between her fingers. We all laughed and went to our different rooms.
After school while I was walking to my mom’s car I was blindfolded.
“Hey!”
“Don’t worry! It’s us.” I heard Julia say.
“Yeah. We have a birthday surprise!” Charles said.
I frowned. “You guys know I hate surprises!” They laughed behind me and started pushing me forward.
“Don’t worry. You’re going to like this one!” I felt them put me in the front seat of a car. I felt around for a little and discovered it was Charles old truck. Julia got in next to me. He started up the car and we drove for maybe twenty minutes. When the took the cloth off my head I discovered they drove me to a club.
“Guys...”
“Don’t worry! You’re 18! You can get in.” Julia said pushing me in.
“Yea, but I can’t drink!”
“So? You don’t need too. Call your mom and tell her you’re coming home late.” Charles said giving me his heart melting smile.
“Well....” They looked at me hopefully as I took out my ID from my wallet and showed it the guy, he let us in. “I guess so.” I smiled. They pushed me forward and we danced.
After ten minutes they were pushing me towards the bar.
“C’mon Cass! It’s your 18th birthday! You have to have at least ONE beer.” Julia said as she got a bottle and held it up.
“I don’t think so guys.” I pushed it away.
“Just a sip!” Julia said giving me her puppy eyes.
“Fine.” I snatched it and took a sip. They looked at me expectantly.
I looked at the bottle, “It’s... okay.” I took another swing and started to feel a little giddy. About 9 beer bottles later I was dancing my a** off laughing. They were laughing with me. At around midnight we piled into Charles’s car and drove to school. Julia got into her car and drove away, yelling goodbyes out the window. Just like her.
“Cass, are you sure you can drive?” He asked me, a little concerned.
“I’m, I’m fine Charles!” I said my words slurring and I put my arm around him for support. He walked me to my car.
“I mean, you can barely walk, how can you drive?”
“I said I’m fine Charles!” I said pouting like a child. He put his hands up in surrender.
“Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll come over later tomorrow, okay?”
I smiled in victory and nodded, “Bye Charles.” I kissed him and sat in the car. I watched him drive away and smiled. Then I started the drive home. Little did I know that, that would be the last time I would kiss him in a long time....

Sunday Paper 5/16/2010

Friday, May 15 8:46 AM, Cassidy Bulard’s body was found in a car that was driven into a lake. They suspected the use-age of alcohol and was spotted at a bar the night before her body was found. The suspected time of death was between 12:40 AM and 1:10 AM. She died hours after her 18th birthday. She died from lack of oxygen and drowned. Her friends that were with her that night said:
“I should have never told her to drink a beer. I didn’t think that one sip would be bad. But she wanted more. Here I am now trying to blame her death on herself! It was all my fault.” 17 year-old Julia Damon, a close friend of Cassidy, said.
“I knew that I shouldn’t have let her drive. But she kept insisting that she was okay. I believed her. If she was alive I wouldn’t let her near another beer again.” 17 year-old Charles Anderson, boyfriend of Cassidy, said.



message 8: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) thanks... i was gonna make the mom dye in a car accident but then i was like, but then she'd need to be in the car and how come she didn't dye and blah blah blah


message 9: by Annie (new)

Annie (lovetodance) This will be a cool contest!


message 10: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) thanks!


message 11: by [deleted user] (new)

A personal reflection rather than a story. I'm not sure this is allowed, if not, no doubt Alexis will remove it.

Birthdays
As the years go by, seemingly with increasing rapidity after fifty or so, birthdays become more of a countdown to the end, rather than opening up the prospect of a glittering future. For some, an eagerly anticipated milestone of one’s youth is transformed into growing awareness that the best has gone and the future is both shorter and less hopeful. It is for this reason, I think, that the elderly lose themselves in the dreams of what might have been and adopt those rose-tinted glasses that makes the past seem so much better than the present and infinitely more attractive than anything yet to come.

When we are five, we want to seven; when we are seven, we want to be ten; when we are ten, we want to be a teen, when we are a teen, we want to be a … and so it goes on. However, when we are sixty, we think of life in our twenties, when we are seventy, forty seems the age to be. I’m sure you get the picture, when you are young you want the clock to tick faster. When you are older you want it to tick slower, much slower, the older you get. We are never satisfied. We cannot be content with our lot. We are reluctant to accept the hand that life deals us.

Yet true contentment is possible, contentment is a state of mind, and being a state of mind it can be shaped by our own efforts. When we look outwards, rather than inwards, we can appreciate how good life is. We can measure ourselves against the lives of previous generations and contemplate the emerging lives of the next generation, our own hopes for ourselves are transformed into our hopes for our children and grandchildren. Gradually, we move to the background as the next generation occupies the foreground, we look forward to their birthdays as much as we inwardly dread our own.

Julie and I married when she was eighteen and I was twenty-three, quite uncaring of what the future might bring. We had each other and that was enough. Two weeks ago she turned sixty and I’ll shortly be sixty-five, and although neither of us have achieved the lofty ambitions of our youth, we still have each other, and in a strange way it remains enough. We produced two children, loved them, nurtured them, encouraged them, protected them and they have long since moved into independent lives, found spouses of their own and are busy, loving, nurturing, encouraging and protecting their own children. We have remained a close-knit family, enjoying each other’s company and delighting in each other’s joys sharing in each other’s disappointments and celebrating each other’s successes. In some senses we are still the same family, only now there are more of us.

Birthdays, and Christmases, remain important, not so much for the presents that so delighted us when we were children, but more as opportunities to get together, to delight in their delight, to laugh with them and at ourselves, and to enjoy those rare moments of quiet contemplation and reflection of how good life has been to us, and indulge our hopes for their futures. Birthdays are important milestones and need to be celebrated, a Dutch friend insists that, as he reaches successive birthdays, his usual reaction is “Well, I’ve got there, So far, so good.” I know where he’s coming from.


message 12: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) aww...


message 13: by Jan (new)

Jan (auntyjan) | 196 comments I'm not sure if it's a short story, more of an essay or discussion, but I certainly hope it will remain on this space as it's certainly food for thought!
I recently went to a high school reunion where there was a list of who is doing what now, where they live, and those who are no longer alive. (and I'm ten AND A HALF years younger than David)
So I think every day that I'm still alive...that's gonna be a good day...especially when you consider the alternative!
I heard somewhere once that we all need three things:
Someone to love
Something to do
Something to look forward to.
I think the creation and nurturing of a family is the greatest accomplishment and certainly satisfies the someone to love.
As for something to do, we all love books, so we are the luckiest people in the world and can all look forward to losing ourselves in our next great find.


message 14: by [deleted user] (new)

It occurs to me that it would be possible to have, in addition to the short story and poem categories, a competition for essays, even if only once a month. What do others think?


message 15: by Jan (new)

Jan (auntyjan) | 196 comments Good idea.


message 16: by Annie (new)

Annie (lovetodance) So we just post our story right here as a comment? Sorry, I'm new here!


message 17: by Kimathy (new)

Kimathy yup, that's all :]


message 18: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) mmhmm! welcome 2 the group!


message 19: by Annie (new)

Annie (lovetodance) Okay, thanks everyone! Don't get too happy to have me in the group-- my writing is not very good at all! But I'm working on improving!


message 20: by Annie (new)

Annie (lovetodance) And Happy (late) Birthday Alexis! Thanks for creating this group!


message 21: by Paul (new)

Paul | 61 comments Couldn't we have a little info about the idea behind your story entry? I just love to know where people get such great stories from. Apparently stories are everywhere, you just need to look for them.


message 22: by Annie (last edited Jul 21, 2010 08:47PM) (new)

Annie (lovetodance) Here's my story. Thank you if you take time to read it! Don't expect much...

By the way, the first part is supposed to be in italics but I couldn't figure out how to do that so I used quotation marks.




Surprises

By: Annie
Word Count: 1,193

"Hannah", the note read, "I forget to tell you before you left for school that I will not be home from work until 9:00 tonight. I left pizza in the refrigerator for supper. Love, Mom." As soon as I finished reading this, I crumpled the note up into a tight ball and threw it into the trash can. I sighed heavily. There had been many notes like this left on the kitchen counter after school recently. My mom is an editor of kid’s books, and she said she has been busy editing a new book. But that is not a good excuse for not spending time with me.

When my mom finally came home that night, it was actually 10:00-- not 9:00 like she had written on the note. That was what I had been expecting, though, because it happens nearly every time-- she’s always later than she thinks. And that’s not the only thing. When she first stepped in the door, she said she was extremely tired from a hard day at work. Then she went to bed, without talking to me at all.

Sometimes it feels like I don’t have a mom at all. I never get to see her. I mean, it wasn’t always this way. Just the past year or so. I didn’t like how my mom was gone so much. Almost every day I had to make my own dinner, which was either something my mom left in the fridge or a peanut butter sandwich. I didn’t have anyone to help me with my homework, either. Another bad thing was that the house was extremely quiet-- so quiet that I could have heard a pin drop. My life was lonely.
---
The day of my birthday, I woke up excitedly. It was a school day, but I was in a joyful mood because I was turning fourteen. When I came downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast, a wonderful aroma filled the room. But before I could wonder what yummy food I smelled, my mom said, “I’ve really got to get to work early today, Hannah. I’m sorry.” I was angry. She probably didn’t remember it was my birthday.

“But mom, today’s my birthday,” I told her.

“Yes, but I still have to go to work, just like you still have to go to school,” my mom explained, “but I did make some pancakes for you.” At least she remembered my birthday by baking pancakes-- that was what I had smelled earlier.

Before I could even say thank you or good-bye, my mother rushed out the door.

My birthday. It should have been special. But no. It was just going to be another normal, lonely day.
---
When I came home from school that day, a surprise was awaiting me. As I entered the door to my house, my mother was there. This was the first time in months that my mother was actually home after school! But in addition to this, there were birthday gifts on the table. My expression turned from sad to happy when this whole surprise appeared. I knew I had gotten gifts in the past, but for some reason I really wasn’t expecting it this year because I felt like I hardly even knew my mom anymore. I was so excited and surprised. Little did I know there was a bigger surprise awaiting me...

After opening all of my gifts, my mom brought out one more. It was a smaller gift, wrapped in sparkly blue wrapping paper.

“This is for you, Hannah,” my mother told me with a smile. I began to open the gift. As I unwrapped the first corner of the gift, I could tell that it was a book. When I had unwrapped it completely, I realized that it was a hardback book titled "Hannah". This was an interesting gift, but I guess my mom knew I loved reading and thought it would be extra special since it had my name as the title. But there was more I didn’t know.

As I flipped through the pages, the dedication page caught my eye. It said, “Dedicated to my lovely daughter, Hannah Elizabeth.” That was my name! But it couldn’t be dedicated to me. I thought that maybe it was just dedicated to another girl named Hannah Elizabeth-- I’m sure there are many. It was probably just a coincidence. I must have looked confused, because my mom began answering my questions.

“Look at the author’s name, honey,” my mom excitedly told me.

“Yeah...,” I said, not knowing what she was talking about, “I’ve read her books before.”

“Don’t you understand? That’s me, Hannah, I wrote the book! I’m that author! I know that’s not my real name, that’s just my pseudonym,” my mother explained to me, “but that’s why I’ve been gone so long at work! I’ve not been editing a book, I’ve been writing a book! About you! It’s going to be a bestseller!” That’s when I understood everything. My mother hadn’t exactly been ignoring me all day by going to work. She had been doing her job, but thinking about me the whole time and making an extra special gift for me that I would remember forever.

“I’ve written many bestselling books. I just haven’t wanted to tell you yet because I’ve always wanted to write a book about you. I feel bad having to work so much, so I thought this would make up for all of the time I haven’t been with you,” my mother said with a smile.

I was too shocked for words. My mom wasn’t an editor. She was an author.
---
Now I have read that book titled "Hannah" at least twenty times. I love it, and it’s even more special since I never knew my own, ordinary, working mom was writing books. What a wonderful surprise on my fourteenth birthday. My mom was right, too, about it going to be a bestseller. It’s currently the number one kids book. I see the copies at bookstores and school. It’s amazing to think that the book written by my mom about me is being read across the nation.

I’m not so sad when I come home to an empty house after school. If I ever miss my mom while she’s at work, I just look at the book that she wrote for me. And guess what? She told me she was writing a sequel to the book. That comforts me even more, because although I miss her after school, I know she’s thinking and writing about me for her job.

I now know that some things seem bad at the surface, but once you dig deeper, you’ll uncover the real story. Like the whole time I was mad at my mom for working so long, but I soon discovered she was an author. I’ve also learned that there are surprises that pop up when you least expect it! Speaking of surprises, I’ve been writing my own book, too. It’s going to be dedicated to my very own mom. The biggest surprise of all is the fact that you have been reading this story all along!


message 23: by Paul (new)

Paul | 61 comments am i too late to post by five tonight?


message 24: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) u can post today i think...


message 25: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) Annie wrote: "Here's my story. Thank you if you take time to read it! Don't expect much...

By the way, the first part is supposed to be in italics but I couldn't figure out how to do that so I used quotation ..."


awww


message 26: by Paul (new)

Paul | 61 comments BIRTHDAY WISH.

For ninety years she had waited patiently for him. Every year on her birthday, the fourth of September she would feel her whole body twisted with butterflies as she nervously expected him to stroll though the door and back into her life again.
She was nine years old the first, and only time they had met. But his hypnotic words were etched on her brain forever since; ‘I will return, on your birthday in the future.’ She told her parents, her friends, even her teacher, but they had all told her it was a condition of her trauma that she had gone through that was causing her to imagine him.
The pub was buzzing with noise on the day of her ninety-ninth birthday. Sitting in her throne like wheelchair she could watch life unravelling before her. She listened to the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses as her great family laughed and mingled together. With a tear in her eye she realized that everyone here before her was here as a result of her.
In the blink of an eye it could have been so different. Was it fate that governed their lives? Is your life mapped out for you before you even breathe your first breath?
She was woken from her musings by Katie, one of her favourite great-grand children.
‘Ma, are you alright?’ the little girl asked, perching herself on the wheelchairs arm.
Cackling wildly she replied, ‘Course I’m fine. It’s my birthday and get lots of presents and cake.’
‘Don’t forget the ninety-nine candles to blow out.’
Putting a wizened hand on the girls knee she asked, ‘Would you like to hear a story?’
‘Yeah, I love your stories Ma,’ she said, her pretty face lighting up.
She loved being called Ma, even through her name was Mary-anne.
‘Would you like to hear the story about my twin sister Alice?’
‘Yeah, is this a made up story like the one you told me the other day?’
Fighting back the tears she replied, ‘No, this is a sad, but true story that happened a long time ago, actually on our birthday.’
Dragging his pint and wife over, her son bent over and gave her a cuddle before whispering into her ear, ‘Mum, not today on your special day. Tell them something happy, make them laugh like you usually do.’
‘No, it’s time to lay my ghosts to rest. After all this might be the last time.’
With the jingle of the jukebox playing merrily in the background and her family happily cradling their drinks around her and listening she begun.
It all happened a long time ago she started, before stopping abruptly as the saloon doors swung open and an elderly man strolled innocently in.
Dressed in a cream linen suit with a matching panama hat he was coolness personified as he sauntered over to the bar before ordering a large whiskey.
‘Oh, do carry on with your story ma, its such a good one to tell,’ he said, not even looking in her direction.
Breathing heavily she closed her eyes, transporting herself back to a little girl. Back to an age before her life had been tarnished by tragedy, back to a life of innocence, where death didn’t stalk the streets.
‘Well as I was saying it was a long time ago. There was two of us then; Alice and myself. It was September 4th nineteen twenty. Those are tough times, but as kids we couldn’t have wanted for more. The great war was but a memory a few years old. Though they didn’t have much money, my parents had a rare gift and that was they loved each other. Father had found employment working for the local undertakers. He was a proud man and never spoke about the war, but me and Alice sometimes put pillows over our ears in the night when we heard the screams. Mother had work at the village general store and together they were happy couple with us, their twin girls their pride and joy.
We were always together out playing. Not like the kids of today always watching television. Our minds were free and the world outside was our playground. But it was on that special day in September everything changed.’ Pausing for breath she looked round at their expectant faces. The man at the bar was quietly watching, drinking his whiskey in measured sips. He still wore that subtle smirk that she hated all these years.
‘Father was taking us on a special treat to a restaurant in town. I forget the name of the place, but I remember he promised us ice-cream in big tall glasses. He had borrowed the car to take us from his boss. It was a huge black monster of metal, gleaming chrome and glass. With his immaculate black suit, hair all bricreamed back Father looked like a toff.’ Pausing for breath the family don’t notice her clear blue eyes welling up.
‘But it was Alice who took your breath away. She was stunning even at that age with her golden hair in ribbons and a bright flowery dress Father had brought her specially for her birthday. I can’t remember what I was wearing, but even I knew through Alice was my twin she was the prettier, cleverer of us both.
And off down the road we went, Father driving like he owned the road as he hooted and waved at everyone he knew. The two of us were like princesses in the back as we smiled and giggled our way into town.’ Stopping to get her breath she asked for a drink for her throat; a rum and coke, with loads of ice. Swigging the drink back she started up again.
‘That’s when it happened. One minute the car was full of gaiety and laughter then,’ she said, before snapping two knurled finger together, ‘it was full of despair and misery. A bike had rode in front of Father, and with him unused to driving he couldn’t manage to control the car as it skidded, before finally hitting a newly planted telephone post. Father was thrown free at the point of impact, but Alice and myself came to in a twisted wreak of metal. The air was full of smoke and red hot flames were crackling as we struggled to get free. There was a tiny rivet of blood flowing down Alice’s face and onto her lovely flowery cream dress. It was then that I knew I was going to die. I knew both my legs had been broken, as well as several of my ribs. There was no way I could get out of the car before the fire would consume it. I shouted at Alice, ‘Get out, leave me. It’s too late for me.’ Somehow I knew she was fine and somebody was looking after her. Her only injury was a cut on her head.
At first I thought I was dreaming as an old man appeared beside us. Then I realized he was as real as us. ‘Only one of you can die today. It has been ordained this way.’
That was when Alice told him to take her. She lied and said she was in pain and wanted to die. She told the old man I needed to live, for I would have the better future. There was no time to argue as he told me he would be back for me on this day sometime in the future.
When I woke up I was on the bank free of the debris, covered in blood and glass but alive. Looking back I could only watch as the flames gradually licked at Alice’s beautifully porcini body. Tears were streaming down both our faces as I watched her disappear.
Taking a swig of rum and coke she glanced up at the man at the bar. Winking at her he mouthed happy birthday before ordering another double whiskey. After all he was feeling rather wicked today.
Closing her eyes Ma listened to the sounds of the bar slowly dwindling away. In the distance she could hear a voice laughing and saying, ‘Ma, that was a really good story, one of your best,’ before shaking her and shouting faintly, ‘MA! MA!’


message 27: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) awww...!!!!


message 28: by Jan (new)

Jan (auntyjan) | 196 comments Here's my story.......786 words


The Jigsaw Puzzle

Alice put another piece of the jigsaw puzzle into place. It was an edge piece. She liked to get the edge pieces into place early on, they formed the framework for the rest of the picture. The picture was of a birthday party, but instead of the customary bold primary colours, this was all depicted in white, cream and soft pastels. Central to the picture was a large, immaculately decorated birthday cake with a single silver candle. There were some children, a baby, some adults and an old lady gathered in the background around the table. Pastel coloured metallic balloons floated above the scene.

You couldn't tell really, whether the candle was for the baby or the great-grandmother, or perhaps it was for both.

As she sorted the pieces into piles of frosty pink, bright white, shadowy white, combination white and pink and so on (for she was very methodical), Alice began to reflect upon a lifetime of birthdays.

She couldn't remember her first or second birthdays of course, who can? But she had a distinct recollection of her third birthday. She'd been taken to a confectionery shop on a street corner and had been allowed to select a very small bagful of traditional boiled sweets. It was somewhere in London, and she could see it now, the rows and rows of boiled sweets in glass jars. Funny to think that her Australian grandchildren called them lollies, while her American niece called them candy. The smell of humbugs and licorice to this day could return her to her childhood delight as she surveyed the wonders of that shop... another time, another place, half a world away.

London as she knew it then was place from the past. Brown and dirty, yet somehow elegant beneath its grime. The shop had probably disappeared long ago. Who knows? Perhaps it had been bombed, or knocked down to make way for some modern monstrosity, reaching for the sky.

Alice thought about other childhood birthdays and the joys of getting presents. Unlike today's children who seem to expect a treat every time they went to the shops, in Alice's day a present was a rare thing indeed.

Mother and Father were still buying her Beatrix Potter picture books when she turned eight, but her grandfather had recognised her as fellow bookworm and ignited her imagination by giving her Alice's Adventure's in Wonderland. She'd been an avid reader ever since.

Alice completed the candle, and began finding the pieces of cake, complete with their delicate pastel flowers.

Grandpa understood her love of reading and gave her Tom Sawyer for her ninth birthday. Every year another book. The first time she read Gulliver's Travels she didn't get past reading about Lilliput, but as she got older she began to understand some of the other stories.

She couldn't remember every book but she simply adored Anne of Green Gables when she was twelve. Then her teenage years had seen the gift of Little Women and its sequels. Every year it seemed, Grandpa knew exactly what to choose.

The most cherished books had been brought out to Australia with Alice and her husband Frank when they later migrated there. "Ten pound poms we were, ten pound poms," Alice used to tell her children. Why Australians called the Brits "poms" was still something of a mystery. Some said it was from P.O.H.M. (Prisoner Of His Majesty) referring to the convicts. But she thought the other explanation more likely. Australians inherited a love of cockney rhyming slang, so "immigrant" became "pomegranate" (near enough) which eventually shortened to "pom". At first Alice had found the Australian way of speaking rather strange, but now she knew that if someone said "Joe Blake" they were talking about a snake. She often got on the "dog and bone" (phone) to talk to her daughter.

So many birthdays. Alice had completed the cake and candle and was now working on the faces.

She began to think about the people in her life. The death of her first husband then later meeting Harry. Travelling with him in 1989 right around Australia. The intense heat in the north. The beautiful rainforests and reef in Queensland. "Grey Nomads" they were called. Retired people, travelling around Australia. The friendliness of people all over the country. The beautiful harbour bridge and opera house in Sydney. The mountains and the snow. Canberra and the war memorial. And then hearing that the Wall had come down. The Wall that had divided Europe for so long, east from west. So much had happened in her lifetime. Dictators and tyrants had come and gone.

Children and grandchildren and all of their birthdays. Alice had outlived two husbands, one son, two dogs and three cats. But she'd had a good life. She had rollerskated up until the age of ninety-one, when a fall had given her a broken shoulder. She stopped roller skating, but continued ice skating for another year after that. Every year the skating "girls" as they still called themselves, celebrated each other's birthdays. Alice brought her own happiness with her throughout her life. She enjoyed friends and family, but she was also content on her own, doing her puzzles.

The picture was nearly complete. Next year she would be ninety six. Alice put another piece of the jigsaw puzzle into place.


message 29: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) awww... gosh these are all so sweet!! mine is like all sad and depressing...


message 30: by ♥Xeni♥ (new)

♥Xeni♥ (xeni) I'm back and I'm ready to write again and what do I see? This super great topic was only til the 22nd! Aaaah!

By the way, happy belated birthday Alex :)

Post the next topic please please please? :D


message 31: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) ... Xeni there's a essay this month... its something on life is short rite?


message 32: by Esther (new)

Esther (essie7198) ya... im working on it rite now...


back to top
This topic has been frozen by the moderator. No new comments can be posted.