It was a crinkled piece of paper lying there on the edge of the path near the elementary school, almost obscured by weeds and grass. Thinking Green I picked it up, planning to put it in the recycle bin. A bit of color caught my eye. I wondered if maybe it was a picture bound for a family’s refrigerator art gallery that had fallen out of a back pack. I smoothed out the small, creased bit of paper and found instead a note written with a bright red Sharpie in the misspelled words of a child. “I love you Mom. Please don’t cry anymore. Ever since those men came to our door and told us Daddy isn’t coming home from Afsganikstan things aren’t the same.I can hear you crying when you go into your bedroom at night, even though you think I can’t. I’m almost getting tall. I can help you. I know I’m not a man yet. but I will be. I’ve got your back, Mom. Love, Joey.”
cronechronicler
You don't know where you are going. You don't know how to get there. And you arrive just the same. Ghanaian saying
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Wow! What a great story.
Thanks. When I read today’s assignment I wondered what I could do with it. I did not have everything in my mind when I started but it spooled out as I wrote. Pure joy! This is my first attempt at blogging and it didn’t occur to me to write “fiction.” The title of your blog intrigues me.
I like the way you mimicked the writing style of an elementary school kid by inserting the misspelling of “Afsganikstan”!
Thanks for spotting my misspelling Afsganikstan. It’s great to be “heard.”
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