Ending

Feeling inspired after the encouraging replies I received from "Purple". So, keep in mind that I am a very early beginner writer... :O Just a short little story from the 100 short stories prompt.



Prompt: Endings


Tired, withered hands lay quietly on the fraying quilt, as eyes blanketed by cataracts rested lovingly on the clock that had given her so much time. How many times did those two hands turned around while the little old lady had played in the yard as a child? How many times did it turn when she was a wife, then a mother? How many times when she was a grandmother? A widow?

And when had her hands stopped being able to darn socks? When had they stopped rocking little ones to sleep? Those where things the clock had taken away in exchange for her time, slowly, but without warning. It had covered her eyes so she could only see into the past.

The little old lady didn't mind. Her memories where enough to last a lifetime. She could still taste the first turkey she ever made, burnt to a crisp. Her wrinkled lips still smiled at that memory, because she could hear her husband's voice asking for seconds, although the taste of the turkey was terrible.

The little old lady had once been a young teenage girl, and she could still feel the lips of the first boy to kiss her. Her ears needed no aid to hear her husband's voice saying, "Ashley Parkstone, I love you," for the first time.

Just as the little old lady could remember the good times, she could remember the bad. She could feel the heartbreak of her boyfriend dumping her, she could feel the worry of her children when they grew sick. She needed no more tears for remembering her husband's death. She was done crying for him.

She would see him soon enough.

The old lady had never known what death felt like, but she didn't need to know. She could tell. The way her heart beat slowly, giving her the last of its strength. The way her brain told her that dinner tonight would not need to be cooked, nor eaten. The way her hands wouldn't obey her. It all gently told her what she knew her whole life was coming.

The ending of this thing called life.

The little old lady was not scared; she could hear the angels. Yet, she cried, a bittersweet mourning for her children she was about to leave behind, the grandchildren who would not get to listen to another of Grandma's stories. Oh, how she wanted to call them all, tell them what was happening, and that she loved them. She knew she could not though. That beautiful clock was about to take back the very first gift it had ever given to the little old lady.

With a smile on her face and tears on her cheeks, The little old lady held her head high and closed her eyes, straining to hear the clock tick away her last breaths...

Tick

Tick

Tock.








((For those who where wondering, this is the same Ashley from "Purple".))

As short as it was, this was admirable for its stortelling. The imagery was great as well..

I really don't have much to say. There were two grammar errors that you can easily find on your own if you read carefully. It's quick and entertaining.

There. That is all.

Tired, withered hands lay quietly on the fraying quilt, as eyes blanketed by cataracts rested lovingly on the clock that had given her so much time.

Beautiful opening! You captured the imagery and motion perfectly, I loved it!

How many times did those two hands turned around while the little old lady had played in the yard as a child?

This sentence confused me. First of all, it needs to be turn. Second, I'm not sure whether you're referring to the clock or the person.

How many times did it turn when she was a wife, then a mother?

It should by they, not it.

Those where things the clock had taken away in exchange for her time, slowly, but without warning. It had covered her eyes so she could only see into the past.

I think the first bit's sweet, but the last bit changes the atmosphere completely, and it's really annoying.

The way her hands wouldn't obey her.

I really like how you keep coming back to the hands, it makes the piece a bit more sureal and creates a great atmosphere for it.

Yet, she cried

Get rid of the comma.




Overall, a beautiful piece. I don't believe I've read Purple, but you can be assured that I will soon. There were a couple of mistakes, but apart from that it was perfect. The imagery was great, and I could easily see an old lady sitting in her chair nd remembering.

Good job!

I'm glad you both liked it! Your comments mean alot to me.

This was beautiful. Nearly everything about it I loved. God, my eyes are a bit wet from reading this.

One thing I didn't like was when you called her "little old lady." "Old lady" or "elderly woman" works for me. "Little old lady" just seems like...oh, I don't know. Maybe like the woman who lived in a shoe? It just sounded out of place.

The only other thing was the first two paragraphs. You have a series of questions which read nicely, but I think you should omit a few of them. It gets a little overboard.

You are wonderful at imagery and varying sentences and...just wow. You truly wowed me.

Tired, withered hands lay quietly on the fraying quilt, as eyes blanketed by cataracts rested lovingly on the clock that had given her so much time.

You nailed the opening line.

The old lady had never known what death felt like, but she didn't need to know. She could tell. The way her heart beat slowly, giving her the last of its strength. The way her brain told her that dinner tonight would not need to be cooked, nor eaten. The way her hands wouldn't obey her. It all gently told her what she knew her whole life was coming.
The ending of this thing called life.

My favorite paragraph in this piece by far.

Gold star!