Tears pour out and dreams fade, nothing exists anymore.
I put on my shoes, put on my hat and picked up my spade before heading out the door. These shoes were given to me by my grandmother. She often gave me presents, but these shoes were my favorite. Soft leather with a nice shine and a string that would tie very nicely. These shoes were my prized possessions which I seldom wore. Today is a special day.
I used the spade I received from my grandfather and began to dig and dug. This spade is what my grandfather used when he worked on our farm, digging up weeds and planting seeds. He never spent a day not working. When he finally gave me his spade, I knew he was too old to continue working. I seldom used this spade however. As a gift I never used it, as I thought it would break down from further use. Today is a special day.
My dreams I get are rather strange- haunting really. I often dream of leaving this farm my grandparents loved so much, that I would break their hearts knowing that the farm will no longer continue it's legend. I assured them that this isn't the case, as long as they were around I would continue to work to make them happy. Grandmother would laugh and serve me my favorite pie, apple. The apples we grow here are a strange, almost golden color. They say my great grandfather planted this apple tree, which is why we never sold them. I know he's probably out there somewhere, laughing at how we waste such delicious apples to make pies.
My tears that flow are strange tasting- as in they have no taste at all. The doctor says that it might have something to do with my genes, I never understood what he meant though. When I cry, I never actually feel the tears flow out. Strange isn't it? The only time I felt myself cry was when my parents died. I wondered why I cry. I never understood the concept of mourning for those you love as they passed. I always felt that once you die, you return to the earth and then be reborn as something of nature. Just like my great grandfather who we buried near the apple tree. The apples started to become the near golden color since then.
I remember this poem my mother used to sing to me when I was a boy. I can scarcely remember the lines:
The little boy put on his shoes and his hat
Began to work in the field with his spade and two sacks
Near the apple tree he rests and took a little nap
He continued to work until the job was done
He emptied the sacks into the holes he dug
And then he ran to town to have some fun
A silly song isn't it?
My life outside the farm is rather fun. My two best friends would often have bets to see who could do this and that the best. One time they made a bet to see who can climb to the top of the water tower the fastest. As one of them climbed she almost reached the top, but she lost her grip and fell. I ran to look for some help and she was rushed to the nearby "hospital." The doctor said that it would take a few months for her to make a safe recovery. She gave me her hat and told me to not visit her until she got better. My other friend said it was all his fault and he couldn't see either of us anymore. It's been five years since then. I never had fun outside of the farm either.
Ha, look at me talk when there's work to be done. Right grandmother? Grandfather?
I put on my shoes, put on my hat and picked up my spade before heading out the door.
With the spade I began to dig and dug, two long, deep holes.
Beside me were two sacks.
The work was long and hard so I decide to rest underneath the apple tree.
I think I took a nap.
I couldn't let this laziness get the better of me.
I continued to work until the job was done.
Finally, before me, two holes side by side.
This was good enough.
Carefully I lowered the sacks into the holes, before covering them up with dirt.
I remembered the promise I made to my grandparents, that I would work for them as long as they're around.
This will be the last thing I would do for you, grandmother, grandfather.
Goodbye.
I climbed into my car and drove to town.
I never had fun there, but maybe I will today.
Tears Pour and Dreams Fade.
Nothing Exists Anymore.
11 Comments
NO
F*CK
STAY FOR THE F*CKING TREE
B-but….the tree……:(
Wow. That was pretty beautiful.
You’ve managed to make me sad.
You may notice this isn’t titled under Fiction… But it is fiction, I’m just messing with yous.
Oh my.
sacks…
BALLSACKS.
BALLSACKS.
Seriously, that’s what I thought when I wrote the first line…
Wait so…
what is this if it isn’t fiction
non-fiction..?
=(
If this isn’t non fiction…
):