[June 17] [Original] Remembrance
Title: Remembrance
Day/Theme: June 17th, a waking dream
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: A bedridden man, and an old woman who came daily to visit him.
Rating: G
Author’s Notes: Inspired by an article from Reader’s Digest May 2006 issue, on the question: “Does true love last forever?”
There was a woman who always visited him, and even though he never could remember her name, or even remember what she said to him, she was the only one he was able to recognize among the sea of strangers who came to see him.
It wasn’t because he thought of her as beautiful: wrinkles completely lined her face, as if carved by all the troubles she had to go through in her life; they left their mark even as she overcame them, not wishing to let her go unscathed.
There was something very entrancing about the way she smiled at him, however, and the way her hair moved when she bent over to kiss him on the cheek. He stroked her hair in wonder, and said, “There is a girl I love, who has hair just like yours.”
She stepped back from him. She did not speak and only stood looking at him, so he decided to explain. She was still a stranger, after all.
“She is very popular, though,” he said. “Half the guys in our school like her. I myself dream of marrying her someday.”
He grinned ruefully at her. “But I guess it’ll only remain just that: a dream.”
She suddenly sat beside him and took his hand, but somehow the action did not surprise him.
“Maybe she loves you as well,” she said.
“Me? No.” He sighed and rested his head on her shoulder, an action which also somehow felt right. “Not someone like me, Ma’am. Not someone like Sophia, either, she’ll be too good for me.”
She stood up and went out the door, but was back in a matter of minutes, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of water, the only things he ate, now.
He caught a flash of his reflection in the mirror, and was horrified for a moment at all the wrinkles on his face and the shock of white, white hair on his head; but the next moment he was calm again, and wondered what was it that had so frightened him earlier. He even forgot that she was there with him, and only remembered when she spoke, asking him to open his mouth so she could feed him the soup.
When he finished, she wiped the dribble of saliva that had inevitably gone down his lips when he was eating, and at this he stared at her, bewildered.
“I’m not saying I’m grateful or anything, Ma’am,” he said, pushing her hand gently away, “But why are you so nice to me?”
“Because,” she said slowly, “I care for you.”
“I think I like you as well,” he said. “But…I don’t know your name, I’m afraid.”
She did not speak, and only continued to put away his bowl and glass. She stood up, carrying the tray.
“It’s Sophia,” she said finally, smiling down at him, but to him she sounded very, very tired: as if it was something she had said to him hundreds, thousands of times.
Day/Theme: June 17th, a waking dream
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: A bedridden man, and an old woman who came daily to visit him.
Rating: G
Author’s Notes: Inspired by an article from Reader’s Digest May 2006 issue, on the question: “Does true love last forever?”
There was a woman who always visited him, and even though he never could remember her name, or even remember what she said to him, she was the only one he was able to recognize among the sea of strangers who came to see him.
It wasn’t because he thought of her as beautiful: wrinkles completely lined her face, as if carved by all the troubles she had to go through in her life; they left their mark even as she overcame them, not wishing to let her go unscathed.
There was something very entrancing about the way she smiled at him, however, and the way her hair moved when she bent over to kiss him on the cheek. He stroked her hair in wonder, and said, “There is a girl I love, who has hair just like yours.”
She stepped back from him. She did not speak and only stood looking at him, so he decided to explain. She was still a stranger, after all.
“She is very popular, though,” he said. “Half the guys in our school like her. I myself dream of marrying her someday.”
He grinned ruefully at her. “But I guess it’ll only remain just that: a dream.”
She suddenly sat beside him and took his hand, but somehow the action did not surprise him.
“Maybe she loves you as well,” she said.
“Me? No.” He sighed and rested his head on her shoulder, an action which also somehow felt right. “Not someone like me, Ma’am. Not someone like Sophia, either, she’ll be too good for me.”
She stood up and went out the door, but was back in a matter of minutes, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of water, the only things he ate, now.
He caught a flash of his reflection in the mirror, and was horrified for a moment at all the wrinkles on his face and the shock of white, white hair on his head; but the next moment he was calm again, and wondered what was it that had so frightened him earlier. He even forgot that she was there with him, and only remembered when she spoke, asking him to open his mouth so she could feed him the soup.
When he finished, she wiped the dribble of saliva that had inevitably gone down his lips when he was eating, and at this he stared at her, bewildered.
“I’m not saying I’m grateful or anything, Ma’am,” he said, pushing her hand gently away, “But why are you so nice to me?”
“Because,” she said slowly, “I care for you.”
“I think I like you as well,” he said. “But…I don’t know your name, I’m afraid.”
She did not speak, and only continued to put away his bowl and glass. She stood up, carrying the tray.
“It’s Sophia,” she said finally, smiling down at him, but to him she sounded very, very tired: as if it was something she had said to him hundreds, thousands of times.