Growing up I used to love to write short stories, and until recently I had forgotten all about this. One in particular that I remember was when i was home schooled and I was given the topic “going out for milk,” and I had to write a story surrounding me going out for milk and the things I saw and did between my home and the local grocery store. This was a difficult activity at first, but then after doing some thinking i found it to be a lot of fun. I was nine years old at the time, and for that whole year i remember coming up with little stories, that to be honest, I have no clue what i did with.
After doing some research, and trying to find topics to help me write more this year, one of the things that came to mind was writing short stories. I was a little apprehensive at first to do this because i knew that writing in general was difficult for me, and obviously short stories take more work…but from the readings i found it is actually quite the opposite. So I hope you will bear with me over these next few weeks as I attempt to try something new, and hopefully expand my writing pallet. Without further ado, here is my short story for this week.
A Man and His Box
There once was a man who had a box. The man carried said box everywhere he went, and when people would ask him about it, he would simply reply, “It holds a priceless treasure.” One day this man befriends a little boy who was sitting by himself on the bus. Many years go by, and this little boy becomes a man, his mom helps the man with the box when his wife dies and he loses his home, and is even invited to the young man’s wedding. One night the young man and his wife get a phone call from the hospital that his dear friend is ill and wants to see him. When he arrives to the hospital he is led to the room where his friend is at. The young man looks at his friend and asked him, “All these years and you never once told me why you chose to befriend me and my mom. Why did you do it?” The man looked at him and pointed to the mysterious box, and upon it sat a letter. The young man walked over and grabbed the letter and began to read it. “Dear Joey, I remember the day we first met. You told me your father left before you were born, and your mother was determined to give you a proper education no matter what. This of ‘ course meant that you had to ride the local bus to get to school, but it never stopped you, not even for once. I think you were about eleven at the time, and you said it broke your mothers heart when she would drop you off each morning. I never asked anything of you or your mother, and yet i was taken in as part of your family, a stranger without a past. What you didn’t know was that I was family. See, my son’s name was Joseph, and he died in war when he was just twenty – one years of age. He left behind a wife and his first born son. I didn’t get a chance to meet either of them because we quit speaking up until a few years before he died. I never told your mother who I was except for being an old man with a lot of mistakes in his life. I feared telling your mother who I was because of what she might think of me, and the way I treated your father growing up. I feared losing him all over again if I spoke those words out loud. As I lay here on this bed, I think of what life would have been like had you known I was your grandfather. Would your life have turned out differently if you had known? That day on the bus when we first met, I might have changed your life, but ultimately you have changed mine. Because see my boy, for ten years i felt like I had my own son back. I felt that somehow I could right so many wrongs, and make amends by taking care of his family. If I don’t make it to see your little boy grow up, I hope you will take this box and cherish it, just as I have done all these years. Please take it, and hopefully you will find your own priceless treasure in the years to come.” After reading the letter he looked into the box, and inside of it were pictures of his dad growing up, his mom and dad’s wedding photo that was taken at the local courthouse, and a few of his father’s belongings – one of which was his dog tags that his mother never recovered. Joey looked at this man he befriended all these years, the man he came to know as Mister, his grandfather. With tears in his eyes he hugged Mister, and said a silent prayer to God for this man he had come to cherish. Eighteen Years pass, and Joey’s son, Joseph Nicolaus the third. – named after his grandfather and great granddad -, comes across a box in his father’s hall closet. “Dad, what is this?” He replied. Joey smiles and simply says, “It holds a priceless treasure son, a priceless treasure.”
If you have a short – story, or even a few of your favorite authors you would like to share, then list them below. Have a good weekend.
I am a follower of Jesus, a wife, blogger, advocate for the hurting, and strive each day to bring love and joy to those around me.