Tuesday, 26 April 2011
W is for Wings (flash fiction)
He was always my boy. My beautiful boy. With his blond hair, his blue eyes and his petal-soft, peachy complexion.
'He'll never walk,' they told me. 'He'll never talk; never understand.'
'I know,' I said.
The fits were terrifying, twisting his tiny body, causing him agony.
'How do you know he feels anything?' they asked me.
'I'm his mother,' I told them. 'I know.'
He grew, my beautiful boy. One birthday, two, three. We had a cake with candles. But he never blew out his candles; never tasted his cake. We fed him through a tube.
'I think he smiled,' someone said.
'My boy doesn't smile,' I told her. 'He can't smile.'
Besides, what is there to smile about?
Today, he's going to look his best. I have dressed him in a white linen shirt and blue dungarees, with little patent shoes to match. My beautiful boy will never walk in those shoes, for he will never walk, but every child should have a first pair of shoes.
'This is a special day for you,' I tell him, 'A special day for both of us.'
We drive together to our favourite spot, with its view of sky and rocks and the churning ocean below.
'This is the place,' I tell him. 'Our place.'
I stand on the edge of the cliff, holding my boy close in my arms, and I jump.
My boy. My beautiful boy. Together we jump. And fly...
Posted by Frances Garrood at 22:17
Labels: flash fiction
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Hell,Frances. What brought that on?ReplyDelete
Beautifully written and piercingly sad.
Wow - that was a very poignant little piece. I could feel the sadness in the words.ReplyDelete
Lynne, I've absolutely no idea! But thanks very much.ReplyDelete
Thanks, Rosemary. I think I must have a rather dark side...ReplyDelete
That's a beautiful piece. I can feel the pain of a mother seeing her young son with no future, no quality of life. Neither for the mother, as she is in emotional pain as well.
I happily work with the elderly. But I couldn't work with vulnerable children: such as terminally ill children, or physically abused, or handicapped. It breaks my heart, and makes me angry and depressed. The way I see it, the elderly had a life, whether it was good or bad, they had a chance. Children in those conditions, had little chances. Many of them will live with a trauma for lifetime. My youngest nursing home resident was a 17 year-old boy, with cerebral palsy, bed bound, unable to communicate, tube fed. The saddest patient for me. His parents were divorced, and hated each other...it was worse.
heartbreaking. What an interesting tale. The sadness and hopelessness could be felt.ReplyDelete
Francess, I'm back to tell you I've given you a Versatile Blogger Award. You can pick it up at (if you wish to accept it): http://romygemmell.blogspot.comReplyDelete
Thanks for the comments, Keith, Doris and Josh.ReplyDelete
Rosemary - thank you very much for the award. I can't find it, but I shall know it's somewhere waiting for me!
Oh Frances - that was so sadly beautiful.ReplyDelete
Thanks very much, Anna.ReplyDelete