The Keepsake Box
Drabble written for the OSL Drabble Tag.
Prompt was Ronon and Jennifer in the distant future.
The Keepsake Box
He awoke before the first rays of the sun crested the horizon, and lay for a short while before laboriously getting out of bed. Arthritis in his joints and old injuries made his movements slow and painful. His faithful Wolfhound lurched to its feet beside the bed and Ronon tousled its furry head. The dog wasn’t getting any younger either. He slowly made his way to the dresser where the keepsake box rested. He picked it up and limped through the French doors, out to the rocker on the veranda of this, his grand-daughter’s house. There was a fine view over the rolling fields to the far hills.
He opened the box and sorted through the items contained within. A few he laid aside silently - the necklace made from a wraith finger bone and the one made from the tooth of the wolf he had killed as part of his initiation into manhood on Sateda. Other items brought a slow smile to his face; baby bootees worn by his first son, a lock of his daughter’s fair hair, a Valentine sent by Jennifer.
Memories crowded thick and fast now - his days as a runner, his friends on Atlantis and his life with Jennifer. Of all his Atlantis friends, he, the old war horse, was the only one left alive. John, with his cheeky grin and unruly hair, had been killed on a mission. Teyla, dignified and elegant to the end, had died at home recently, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. And Rodney, to whom he once thought he had lost Jennifer, had died making love to his fifth wife.
He tried unsuccessfully to bring to mind the face of his first love, Melena. But her face was always eclipsed by Jennifer’s. It was funny how he remembered Jennifer more as she had been in the first days of their marriage and not as she had been two years ago when cancer had taken her from him.
His gnarled hand stroked the top of the dog’s head again.
Even though she was dead and gone he often felt her presence close to him, even more so today. Through dimmed eyes he thought he could see her golden hair and could nearly reach out to touch her beautiful face. She seemed to smile at him with love and tenderness and held out her hand.
The old dog whined and looked at his master. The loving hand that had rested on top of his head fell away limply. The dog nudged it with his nose but got no response.
Away across the meadow of long grass, in the first light of morning, Ronon and Jennifer made their final journey together hand in hand - while above their heads a skylark began to sing.
Prompt was Ronon and Jennifer in the distant future.
The Keepsake Box
He awoke before the first rays of the sun crested the horizon, and lay for a short while before laboriously getting out of bed. Arthritis in his joints and old injuries made his movements slow and painful. His faithful Wolfhound lurched to its feet beside the bed and Ronon tousled its furry head. The dog wasn’t getting any younger either. He slowly made his way to the dresser where the keepsake box rested. He picked it up and limped through the French doors, out to the rocker on the veranda of this, his grand-daughter’s house. There was a fine view over the rolling fields to the far hills.
He opened the box and sorted through the items contained within. A few he laid aside silently - the necklace made from a wraith finger bone and the one made from the tooth of the wolf he had killed as part of his initiation into manhood on Sateda. Other items brought a slow smile to his face; baby bootees worn by his first son, a lock of his daughter’s fair hair, a Valentine sent by Jennifer.
Memories crowded thick and fast now - his days as a runner, his friends on Atlantis and his life with Jennifer. Of all his Atlantis friends, he, the old war horse, was the only one left alive. John, with his cheeky grin and unruly hair, had been killed on a mission. Teyla, dignified and elegant to the end, had died at home recently, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. And Rodney, to whom he once thought he had lost Jennifer, had died making love to his fifth wife.
He tried unsuccessfully to bring to mind the face of his first love, Melena. But her face was always eclipsed by Jennifer’s. It was funny how he remembered Jennifer more as she had been in the first days of their marriage and not as she had been two years ago when cancer had taken her from him.
His gnarled hand stroked the top of the dog’s head again.
Even though she was dead and gone he often felt her presence close to him, even more so today. Through dimmed eyes he thought he could see her golden hair and could nearly reach out to touch her beautiful face. She seemed to smile at him with love and tenderness and held out her hand.
The old dog whined and looked at his master. The loving hand that had rested on top of his head fell away limply. The dog nudged it with his nose but got no response.
Away across the meadow of long grass, in the first light of morning, Ronon and Jennifer made their final journey together hand in hand - while above their heads a skylark began to sing.