Billy pouted. The trip to grandpa’s house was canceled, because a storm was coming. Scanning the eastern horizon, however, he saw nothing but blue skies.
No trip… and no snow to play in.
Billy drooped his head and sighed. Looking up he saw the winter’s first snowflakes flutter past, and his eyes twinkled with delight.
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This is for my daughter, whose birthday was this past weekend.
For the first time today there was silence. The party favors had been trashed or sent home with guests. The cake and ice cream were put away. The music had stopped, and so had the vacuum. Exhausted, I collapsed on the couch and closed my eyes.
Fourteen smiling faces appeared, and I myself smiled, too.
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We close the day with our third contribution from Glenn.
“You do it.”
“No you do it.”
“What are you scared?”
“No, but I heard Frank died last week.”
“Okay, okay, but tell me how could he die from this?”
“I think he was just to close.”
“What do you think he was doing, show me.”
“All right. He went like this.”
Sniff. Sniff. Wham!
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Now for our second story from Glenn.
I whisper this to you, so keep it low. I have a place know one knows, where I can sit and dream. I have the sun and sky above to warm me, and if I duck low I can have soft cool shade. Soon my special place will turn from green to gold like me.
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We’ll finish the day with a trio of stories from Glenn Nobiss. This, the first, is wonderfully appropriate for today!
My spirits soars as I look up to see blue turning pink, white turning to gold.
It’s chilly, but that just add to the sensation, of peace. The sky seems so big it makes me feel so small. I see a shadow overhead and know I must go under, but drink in one last look.
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Our second story of the day comes from Michelle Manthey. Thanks, Michelle!
The gift was from the heart, a frame made of noodles. The fragile drawing placed inside was of a family; their family. Made in crayon and paper it would be the only visual picture she would have to remember them by. All thanks to the fire that had taken them away.
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The first of today’s reader submissions is from Lauren. Thanks!
Holden gazed outside. The snow was falling hard on the landscape. He was surrounded by whiteness, a blank canvas. Holden got his brushes and mixed his colors. He began to paint and made himself a perfect world. Holden began to walk and walk in his world. They found him dead in the spring.
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It was late, too late. The dance was long over, and the gang were supposed to be here for an all-night movie marathon. They should be half way through The Lord of the Rings by now.
The phone pierced the silent tension.
“Hello?”
A somber voice replied. “Is this the mother of Richard Abrams?”
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