Broken

The noise was tremendous. In a split second everything was shattered. It was done. She looked at the destruction she had caused and felt her stomach turn. She ran backwards until her back touched the wall. She spread her palm on the wall and slowly slid away from the wreck. They had warned her. They threatened her. But she didn’t listen. She had her chance of playing safe but she didn’t. Repercussions were inevitable. Now she stood in the corner of the room with her hands to her side, unable to move anymore. She pulled her eyes down to her feet and let the stray strands of hair partially hide her vision. She didn’t realize her mouth was slightly open. The noise brought the maid into the room. Looking at the mess the maid shot a flaming glare towards the little pink bundle now sitting in the corner quietly sobbing. Two teary eyes and a tiny voice came out of the bundle, “I broke mama’s pretty plates.”

The Bench

At the very top of the hill sat a little bench for lovers, alone among trees with thick branches and dense leaves. The wooden bench was a little rickety and sat hidden from sight. Its ancient brown paint was almost hidden with the yellow dead leaves from the trees. But at its feet were little bushes that bore little flowers sometimes. The purple flowers were vibrant and always livened up the place. They would wither off only to be replaced by another set of wild delights.

The breeze is light today but the leaves are excited. They gossip about the much anticipated arrival. The breeze carries the gossip on to the little stream that was playing with its pebbles. The stream delivers it at the banks of the river. The scorching sun hides behind stray wisps of cloud and peeps once in a while. But all that can be heard are footsteps.