, , ,


My Attempt: Enjoy.

Sebastian ripped a calendar slit. He rubbed his eyes. October was written in red in a month name slot.

“Fall already,” he grunt.

Brenda will nag him to get fall decorations from the attic.

He looked at his office table, on the piles of work paper waiting for him to be read and signed.

“I better get it now.”

He pulled himself up from his cosy black leather chair and tipped to the attic.

Brenda was cooking something in the kitchen and he didn’t want to disturb her.

He walked the squeaky stairs and opened the attic door.

It was dark and quiet.

He turned on the light.

Dust danced on funky-smelling air.

He inhaled some fresh air from the stairs and ducked into the attic space.

“Where are the fall decoration?” He turned around and checked the boxes.

He turned some boxes around, and found a sharpie written tags on the cardboard.

He winced, when he remembered how Brenda made him label each box for a reference. All the nights he spend to pack those boxes neat and straight.

He remembered how Lacy was with them that time, and she made his labeling much more fun.

But this year she won’t be with them. She died from cancer nine months before.

She was gone.

A sharp pain washed over him and twitched his heart muscles.

It will be different.

He cried in the corner of attic.

“Lacy.” He still missed her a great deal.

He knew he will never forgot her. Never. Ever.

She was his and Brenda’s only child.

A girl of courage and joy.

Her death shock Brenda a great deal and she became unsocial and pulled them into the ocean of sadness, depression and indifference.

He grabbed a box and threw it to another side of the attic.

“Why?” He kicked other boxes.

“Why should you go?”

He picked a ceramic Christmas Tree that stood on Lacy’s night table and threw it on the attic floor with all anger he got.

The tree broke in many pieces.

“How should I live without you?” He sobbed. “How should I celebrate Harvest and Christmas this year? How should I celebrate your birthday. Why?”

He sat on the floor. Sharp ceramic pieces poked through the cloth and digged into his skin.

He wiped his blurry eyes and pushed the closest box.

A pile of letter, wrapped with a kitchen strings, laid behind.

He leaned and picked them up.

With a shaky hands he untied the letters.

The top one had a label: “To my daddy and mommy, when I will be gone.”

He stopped reading, staring into space.

These were the letters their eight-years-old Lacy left for them to read and remember her and to never forget the life they once had together.

Those forgotten letters became his only treasure.

He sat there, reading them, when Brenda rushed through the door.

“I heard something falling and breaking?” She watched him. “Are you alright?”

“She is back.” He lifted the letters.