By the Pond
They lived in the house by the pond. The little family led a simple life, but it was not one void of adventure.
The toddler dipped her tiny toes in the water, the heat of the summer sun grazing her brown, frizzy curls. She slipped into the water, laughing as she swam from lily pad to lily pad, nothing stopping her from being whoever or whatever she wanted to be. Her giggles filled the open air, beckoning her father from their home.
The stern man watched from the creaking old porch, the lines on his face turning upward into a smile that revealed itself from behind his beard. He closed his eyes, humming a song that his own father taught him when he was growing up. Like a shot, he rushed toward the water, watching the ripples his daughter's body created. With a toothy grin, he jumped in, becoming the little boy he had almost forgotten. He swam toward his daughter, their smiles almost as bright as the sun that warmed the afternoon.
Not many visitors came by the house by the pond in the years to come, but on that day, the whole world could hear the hear the laughter of the hardened man and his beautiful daughter.
Deep in the Woods
His glittering brown eyes shot open, the sun illuminating the flecks of gold. A plethora of thoughts rushed into his throbbing head. "Where am I?"
His fingertips touched the tender sore on his right cheek, the taste of blood in his dry mouth. He took a sharp inhale as he grazed his surroundings. Thick three trunks and emerald leaves were planted sturdily in the ground. He shivered, the chilly air grazed over his tattered tuxedo, a limp rose boutineer in his pocket. A memory slammed into his head.
Music, dancing, the bass beneath his feet, the feeling of a soft hand in his and a full heart. Pain, the taste of salty tears, the gruff jeers of "queer, fairy, gay." The slap of a strong hand.
A flush of anger flew into him, bringing a red glow to his face. He immediately shot up, ignoring the pain that corrupted his head. Determined, he ran from the woods into the clouded light of the city that rejected him.
"I will win."
Author's Note: These are both fictional stories inspired by the Disney paint chips.
I like the idea of a simple life with attainable adventures you've set up in the first story, and your description of the man as "hardened" but filled with lighthearted joy in that moment with his daughter.
ReplyDeleteThe juxtaposition of the images in the second story--dancing, bass, a soft hand, a full heart contrasted with a slap, anger, chilly air, a limp boutonniere--is a powerful representation of such senseless hate creeping in.