Past

Past

A Story by Emere
"

I have a lot of weirdly vivid memories from when I was a kid. Decided to compile them before they get trampled by the endlessly marching feet of senescence.

"
Random crap I remember from my childhood.
 
Sunlight filtering through the kitchen window, illuminating the molecules of dust like a million particles of golden stardust.
 
On my back in the snow, gazing at the blank sky, vision bordered by black trees and the grace of winter’s distant, treacherous beauty.
 
Pushing my hands through the grass in my yard, sparrows singing, those ever-watchful sentinels.
 
Sprinting over stone and glade, hoping that the neighbors didn’t see me. A boy is chasing me, but I am far faster, endowed with the power of wind-whipped hair and the scent of lilac in the air.
 
Reading heavy black books in the whiteness of my living room, while my brother plays the violin.
 
Rabbit’s nests, nestled in the green grass beneath my window. Squirming little miracles, which I am forbidden to touch lest their mother slaughter them.
 
Trying and failing to execute cartwheels, my uncoordinated limbs landing, twisted, on the carpet.
 
Burying a dead mourning dove in a small dirt grave, to the side of my garage. Adorning it with a small cross, though had lost most of my faith by then. Shrugging, deciding that it couldn’t hurt.
 
Shrieking at the sight of a scuttling mouse in the basement, back before they started living in the tired and aching walls.
 
Bike rides around my neighborhood, Modest Mouse echoing in my eardrums as I pedaled slowly, looking distractedly at the birds and rocks.
 
Grasping the branches of the red thorn bush in the yard, watching, detached, as small pinpricks of blood bubbled up across my palms.
 
 

© 2018 Emere


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Reviews

I actually like your comment best "the endlessly marching feet of senescence"!

Should use that in another piece.

This feels like a series of impressionistic vignettes.

Like strolling through a gallery of childhood.

I like the details. A bit whimsical, lilac, golden stardust... a bit foreboding basement, grave.



Posted 6 Years Ago



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165 Views
1 Review
Added on January 18, 2018
Last Updated on January 18, 2018
Tags: childhood, memories, summer, happy

Author

Emere
Emere

TN



About
Amateur writer with commitment issues. Feedback is welcomed, and helpful, and caressed inappropriately. Appreciate ya. ;) more..

Writing
Who We Are Who We Are

A Story by Emere