What if?

I have decided to share another oldie but goodie with you all. I wrote this short story for a competition about three years ago and because of misinterpretation, I was graded really badly for it. It was the first time that I had gotten negative feedback on one of my pieces and I won't lie it wasn't easy. Despite the fact that they didn't critique the writing itself, it was challenging to take it in my stride. Years later, I can look back and appreciate their honesty. It has taught me to read the fine print and even though writing is a form of passionate creativity, there is still some degree of structure to it. I hope you enjoy these words. If you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them in the comments.

Time to learn

Photo by Verne Ho on Unsplash

What if?

I stood in the enveloping shadow of the oak, inches from her window at war in the chambers of my mind. I watched as remaining scatters of memory from the past 21 years flashed by. The familiar wave of warmth poured over my soul as the pieces were drawn together by the urge to fill the void and I focused on the broken images:

She played Mary at her kindergarten Christmas play. Her golden flocks of hair bounced around with every step she took on the big stage that seemed to swallow her whole. My eyes flooded as I watched, unnoticed, from the back, how she had completed her first step of growth. At her first talent show, in primary school, I listened to melodies as her fingers caressed the black and white keys softly, marking yet another stride forwards in her life. I watched how her cheeks were kissed with saltwater as she ran home after her first high school heartbreak. I listened diligently from the shadows to every word she spoke at her graduation; ready to face the world as the woman she had become…

The tears ran over my face as the scatters tried ,in vain, to glue themselves together. Yet, my mind kept spitting out the words: “What if?” What if the tiny princess, that I held in my arms for a brief moment, won’t forgive me? What if I couldn’t find the words to explain that I would bear the pain of childbirth all over again if it could produce a chance to change my decision, a chance to turn my head right to left, instead of up and down in reply to the nurse’s question that seemed so simple?

I was finally ready to face the music; own up to my mistake. To her I have always been a stranger. To me she has never been anything short from the little princess I held in my arms that day. My pride; my daughter.

As I emerged from the shadow to stare straight into her eyes through her open window, my words –one by one- fell into darkness. As her face was inches from mine, she reached out a hand … and closed the window.

For a moment I had forgotten that my tombstone had already been written, had already been planted and because of my foolish answer we would remain strangers, forever…