Fic: Forgotten and Remembered
Another ficlet from the three line fic meme, this time from a prompt given by my darling Austin (johnmayergirl23)
Prompt: Mad World. Simon. Photo album.
The album lies forgotten in the drawer of his bedside table, and his breath catches in his throat as he pulls it out. The cover is soft imitation leather, embossed with a single word, photos, and he runs his fingers across it, wondering how much he remembers, and how much he's forgotten.
There's a picture of an eight-year-old version of himself, playing with the five-year-old version of his best friend, who he only just recently saw after years of avoidance. Even younger in the next one, lying on the parlor floor of an old house in an older city, pushing toy cars back and forth with his dad.
And then he stops, breathless yet again when he flips the page and stares at the next picture. Glowing red hair lying across the shoulders of her green sweater, a brilliant smile and warm brown eyes shining with mirth. He remembers this day, remembers taking this picture
Smile, Mum, smile!
and his heart feels like it's crumbling inside his chest, dissolving into nothing.
He raises his hand to the picture and touches his fingers to her hair, remembers wondering how it was always so soft and remembers telling her how pretty it was, how pretty she was, because she was his mum and he always thought she was so beautiful.
The picture blurs as the tears rise in his eyes and he takes a shaky breath, the guilt and the pain still so fresh and raw even after all these months.
He hears his dad's footsteps on the stairs, hears his voice calling to him, and he snaps the album shut, shoving it into his bag with his new clothes and hastily wiping his eyes before pulling the zipper closed.
A soft knock and then the door opens. "Ready to go?" Nathan asks, staring curiously at his son.
Simon nods as he lifts the bag from the bed. "Yeah."
Prompt: Mad World. Simon. Photo album.
The album lies forgotten in the drawer of his bedside table, and his breath catches in his throat as he pulls it out. The cover is soft imitation leather, embossed with a single word, photos, and he runs his fingers across it, wondering how much he remembers, and how much he's forgotten.
There's a picture of an eight-year-old version of himself, playing with the five-year-old version of his best friend, who he only just recently saw after years of avoidance. Even younger in the next one, lying on the parlor floor of an old house in an older city, pushing toy cars back and forth with his dad.
And then he stops, breathless yet again when he flips the page and stares at the next picture. Glowing red hair lying across the shoulders of her green sweater, a brilliant smile and warm brown eyes shining with mirth. He remembers this day, remembers taking this picture
Smile, Mum, smile!
and his heart feels like it's crumbling inside his chest, dissolving into nothing.
He raises his hand to the picture and touches his fingers to her hair, remembers wondering how it was always so soft and remembers telling her how pretty it was, how pretty she was, because she was his mum and he always thought she was so beautiful.
The picture blurs as the tears rise in his eyes and he takes a shaky breath, the guilt and the pain still so fresh and raw even after all these months.
He hears his dad's footsteps on the stairs, hears his voice calling to him, and he snaps the album shut, shoving it into his bag with his new clothes and hastily wiping his eyes before pulling the zipper closed.
A soft knock and then the door opens. "Ready to go?" Nathan asks, staring curiously at his son.
Simon nods as he lifts the bag from the bed. "Yeah."