Post by Lillie on Sept 21, 2005 15:00:28 GMT -5
Recently I was walking in the local supermarket, and a strange sight fell upon my eyes. It was a very old man, with a short beard and white hair. He wore a rain hat, a trench coat, and black boots. He had a slump, and walked very stiffly, making clump sounds as he stepped. He reminded me much of a man in a book I had read, a man who
I moved on to the produce isle, forgeting about the man and moving onto more pressing matters. I reached down to grab a head of lettuce, and was planning to return to my mother and the cart, I stood back up I bumped into the old man.
"I'm so sorry sir," I apologized.
"No problem miss," he replied, with a twinkle in his eye. I turned away, and was walking toward the canned soup isle when something the man said stopped me. "Young lady, have you been good to your mother?" he asked.
I was stunned. I never thought I'd hear anyone say that. Surly the tales were fiction. Everyone knew that. I figured the man must have just been playing a joke, so I replied, "The question is," I said, "has she been good to me?"
He looked surprised for a moment, and then said with a sigh, "So few left. So few left. But still is nice to see some." He smiled at me and walked off, no hint of a slump.
I stood stunned for a moment, but then shook it off. I had to get home and take care of my homework. I didn't remember anything about it until dinner.
I was sitting at the table with my family, when a strange sound came to my ears. It was crickets, and I hadn't thought much about it, but at that moment, I realized it was winter. Crickets don't chirp in winter.
I turned to whisper to my brother as my parents were talking to each other. "Do you hear that?" I asked
"What?" he asked
"Those crickets," I replied.
"So?" he asked.
"Crickets don't chirp in winter," I said, and recounted the afternoon at the grocery store to him.
"That's ridiculous," he said. "Are you actually thinking the stories are true?"
"It's too odd to be a coincidence. I know it sounds farfetched, but..." I replyed, trailing my sentence off.
"It's fiction," my brother said firmly.
"What's fiction?" asked my mother.
"Nothing," I said hurredly, "we were just discusing a book."
"Okay," my mother said suspiciously, but she turned away and began speaking to my youngest brother, telling him to eat more vegetables.
At that time, another sound fell upon my ears. It was a strange clicking noise, like my mother's brailer, or... A typewriter! I looked at my brother. His eyes were wide in curiosity. We looked at eachother, and a silent understanding formed between us.
"Excuse me," I said, and my brother and I left the table.
We went to the back of the house, and out the back door. We listened closley. We could still hear the crickets, although the typewriter had stopped. They came from the left side of the yard. We slowly creeped to the other side. It was dark, but the moon cast shadows across the yard, and we could see an unfamiliar shadow ahead of us. It was bent over, and it appeared to have something large beneath it. As we turned the corner, we saw it was a man with a typewriter. Slowly, he stood up, and pointed at my brother and I.
"I was hoping you would come," the man said, and beckoned toward us.
Fearfully, we looked at each other, and as if some invisible hand pulled us, we walked toward him. We did not know where we were going, or who the man was, but somehow, it felt necessary to go with him. As we moved forward, we caught site of his typewriter in the moonlight. On it were the initials VFD.
I'd appreaciate any feedback so if you read it and have any critical or good comments then just post them here for me to read! Thanks! Lillie.
I moved on to the produce isle, forgeting about the man and moving onto more pressing matters. I reached down to grab a head of lettuce, and was planning to return to my mother and the cart, I stood back up I bumped into the old man.
"I'm so sorry sir," I apologized.
"No problem miss," he replied, with a twinkle in his eye. I turned away, and was walking toward the canned soup isle when something the man said stopped me. "Young lady, have you been good to your mother?" he asked.
I was stunned. I never thought I'd hear anyone say that. Surly the tales were fiction. Everyone knew that. I figured the man must have just been playing a joke, so I replied, "The question is," I said, "has she been good to me?"
He looked surprised for a moment, and then said with a sigh, "So few left. So few left. But still is nice to see some." He smiled at me and walked off, no hint of a slump.
I stood stunned for a moment, but then shook it off. I had to get home and take care of my homework. I didn't remember anything about it until dinner.
I was sitting at the table with my family, when a strange sound came to my ears. It was crickets, and I hadn't thought much about it, but at that moment, I realized it was winter. Crickets don't chirp in winter.
I turned to whisper to my brother as my parents were talking to each other. "Do you hear that?" I asked
"What?" he asked
"Those crickets," I replied.
"So?" he asked.
"Crickets don't chirp in winter," I said, and recounted the afternoon at the grocery store to him.
"That's ridiculous," he said. "Are you actually thinking the stories are true?"
"It's too odd to be a coincidence. I know it sounds farfetched, but..." I replyed, trailing my sentence off.
"It's fiction," my brother said firmly.
"What's fiction?" asked my mother.
"Nothing," I said hurredly, "we were just discusing a book."
"Okay," my mother said suspiciously, but she turned away and began speaking to my youngest brother, telling him to eat more vegetables.
At that time, another sound fell upon my ears. It was a strange clicking noise, like my mother's brailer, or... A typewriter! I looked at my brother. His eyes were wide in curiosity. We looked at eachother, and a silent understanding formed between us.
"Excuse me," I said, and my brother and I left the table.
We went to the back of the house, and out the back door. We listened closley. We could still hear the crickets, although the typewriter had stopped. They came from the left side of the yard. We slowly creeped to the other side. It was dark, but the moon cast shadows across the yard, and we could see an unfamiliar shadow ahead of us. It was bent over, and it appeared to have something large beneath it. As we turned the corner, we saw it was a man with a typewriter. Slowly, he stood up, and pointed at my brother and I.
"I was hoping you would come," the man said, and beckoned toward us.
Fearfully, we looked at each other, and as if some invisible hand pulled us, we walked toward him. We did not know where we were going, or who the man was, but somehow, it felt necessary to go with him. As we moved forward, we caught site of his typewriter in the moonlight. On it were the initials VFD.
I'd appreaciate any feedback so if you read it and have any critical or good comments then just post them here for me to read! Thanks! Lillie.
*claps loudly*