Brigit's Flame Entry- Week 2 September
Title: Lost in the Fire
Author: Keppiehed
Rating: G
Warnings: adult theme
Word Count: 391
Prompt: “How does it open?”, the piece must begin with this prompt.
A/N: This was written for week #2 at brigits_flame.
“How does it open?”
I watched her chubby, five-year-old fingers fumble with the heirloom, and I tried not to wince. Maybe I should have saved it until she was older and could better appreciate it? “It doesn't. It's not a locket, sweetie,” I said, trying to infuse patience in my tone.
“But Brittany's opens,” she protested, holding up her doll as a sign of undeniable proof. Brittany's head lolled and she gazed at me with the dispassionate, glassy eyes of an effigy.
“This is a special necklace,” I explained. “See?” I took the jewelry from her hands and tried to untangle the knots that had already formed in the delicate chain. “This was Grandma's, and she wanted you to have it. I remember when I was a girl, I would sit and go through all her stuff. Sometimes she would let me watch her get ready to go out, and this was always my very favorite thing. Can you see here? It has a heart in the gold, just there. And a tiny diamond, the most precious stone there is.” I gazed at the necklace. It was all I had left of my mom. Everything else had been lost in the fire. Including her life.
“But Brittany has a diamond on her necklace, and it opens!” Bella was starting to whine. “That one is ugly, and I don't want it!”
“Maybe you will, someday,” I said.
“Can I get a snack? You said we could have cookies today,” Bella asked. “Please?”
I swallowed. “Go to the kitchen. I'll be right there.” I watched her run off, so carefree, and I traced my fingertips over the filigree design. I opened up her music box, the kind like I'd had when I was young, with the ballerina that springs open under the lid and twirls obediently in front of a cheap mirror. As the mechanical strains of “Someday My Prince Will Come” tinkled, I laid the necklace in the velvet cubby of the box.
A necklace wouldn't be enough for my daughter to remember my mother by, but it was all I had, and I could only hope that it would be enough. I snapped the lid shut, cutting off the music mid-song, and went down to finish the day.
Author: Keppiehed
Rating: G
Warnings: adult theme
Word Count: 391
Prompt: “How does it open?”, the piece must begin with this prompt.
A/N: This was written for week #2 at brigits_flame.
“How does it open?”
I watched her chubby, five-year-old fingers fumble with the heirloom, and I tried not to wince. Maybe I should have saved it until she was older and could better appreciate it? “It doesn't. It's not a locket, sweetie,” I said, trying to infuse patience in my tone.
“But Brittany's opens,” she protested, holding up her doll as a sign of undeniable proof. Brittany's head lolled and she gazed at me with the dispassionate, glassy eyes of an effigy.
“This is a special necklace,” I explained. “See?” I took the jewelry from her hands and tried to untangle the knots that had already formed in the delicate chain. “This was Grandma's, and she wanted you to have it. I remember when I was a girl, I would sit and go through all her stuff. Sometimes she would let me watch her get ready to go out, and this was always my very favorite thing. Can you see here? It has a heart in the gold, just there. And a tiny diamond, the most precious stone there is.” I gazed at the necklace. It was all I had left of my mom. Everything else had been lost in the fire. Including her life.
“But Brittany has a diamond on her necklace, and it opens!” Bella was starting to whine. “That one is ugly, and I don't want it!”
“Maybe you will, someday,” I said.
“Can I get a snack? You said we could have cookies today,” Bella asked. “Please?”
I swallowed. “Go to the kitchen. I'll be right there.” I watched her run off, so carefree, and I traced my fingertips over the filigree design. I opened up her music box, the kind like I'd had when I was young, with the ballerina that springs open under the lid and twirls obediently in front of a cheap mirror. As the mechanical strains of “Someday My Prince Will Come” tinkled, I laid the necklace in the velvet cubby of the box.
A necklace wouldn't be enough for my daughter to remember my mother by, but it was all I had, and I could only hope that it would be enough. I snapped the lid shut, cutting off the music mid-song, and went down to finish the day.