Locket

The short story of the throughts and actions of a family going through a loss on christmas day.

Locket

     She held the gold, green, and red rapped box in her hand as though it had been there all of her life. It was now connected to her. Dare she open it? Unravel the golden ribbon which he had so timely wrapped around the box with only his hands? Rip apart the paper he had used minutes of his life to place around box with tape? He was the last person to see what was inside. Did she really want to take away that record? But he wrapped it for her. And he taped it for her. And what ever was inside of it was surely for her. She knew he wanted her to open it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have taken the precious time out of his life, the time he could’ve never realized was so precious, to wrap it. She thought about what would happen if he were here. What would he do and what would he say? She looked at the empty seat in-between her cousins, parents, siblings, uncles and aunts. It was the same thing every year; the traditional joys; the traditional humor; the traditional jokes, games, and merriment, and they all knew that. But none of them knew how precious that was until now. They all gaped at her as she held the present, wondering if she would ever open it. And if she didn’t, they would understand. As his mother, she had the right to that choice. And he was her only child.

            Her older sister; afraid, nervous, but wanted to help. She looked at her with a compassionate eye, and her soft voice whispered, “Hey, if you don’t want to open it, you don’t have to. It’s okay.”

            And wanting to hold in the tear that crept to the corner of her eye, she replied to her sister, “No; he’d want me to open it.” But she still held the present there, reminiscing and imagining her son taking his time to wrap the box and making sure it looks perfect as he’d always done. He never considered the next day when he was wrapping it. He didn’t consider how much time he might have left. He only considered that he had a gift to wrap for his mother, and how perfect he wanted it to be when he would give it to her. He had even called her that day and told her that he would be there for Christmas Eve. And she had cleaned up the room and made a nice space for him to stay for the night, and she made an extra pie for him to take back home with him, and, of course, she placed his gifts under the tree to be ready for him when it was time to open them. No; it had never crossed her mind that he wouldn’t be able to make it that Christmas. It had never crossed her mind that someone else had made plans for him instead. She only knew that she would see her son, who had just graduated from college, come home again and it would be just like old times. No; she had no idea that someone would rob her of something more precious to her than anything else in her life.

            Then her relatives turned away and tried to start conversation. They didn’t want to stare at her while she was going through what she was going through. But conversation was so hard. Talking about the past was so difficult when every Christmas they were all there. With every memory, his name would be brought up, and no one wanted to mention it. Last Christmas Uncle Harry bought him a gag gift. And the Christmas before that, he spilled eggnog all over himself. And with every story they were in that same room, at that same house, during that same time. But the tradition had been broken this time. They were not all there laughing about and enjoying their own personal history of Christmas. This time it was only quiet and loathsome.

            Still though, it was Christmas, and what happened happened. It couldn’t be taken back. And the present that he wrapped still lied in his mother’s hand. It would be a sin for her not open it. That five minutes of his life could’ve been used on something else, but like a good son, he spent it on his mother, and with that thought in mind, she finally pulled on the string. The tear from her eye dripped down. She tore through the wrapping paper. And there went another tear. And at last, the sacred box had been revealed. She opened it up and the tears poured. A locket sat inside; just a silver locket; nothing inscribed on the top. It couldn’t have been anymore than eight dollars.

            Seeing the endless tears, her sister got up and wrapped the locket around her neck for her. It would never come off from that day.

           

Author's Note

(Please leave constructive critisism and not rude comments)

Reviews

[Meat of Dog]

There was good suspense at the beginning. The time of describing the present and the tangle of whether or not she should open it kept me reading because I really wanted to know who ‘he’ was and why it was such an affair. Obviously this is not an average present or an average person who gave it to her. Realizing that it was from her son, and what he was gone, made the initial text a sad and sobering hit. This was a good story but I felt like it needed a little bit more developing. There was mention of her son but maybe flesh it out a bit with more specific memories or descriptions (there wasn’t quite enough character development for me to feel completely satisfied at the end).

Suggestions:

“And what ever was inside of it” whatever

“and what happened happened” The double word (although it works) is a little awkward. I would say ‘what happened had happened’ or ‘what happened was done’ or something of that nature.

“That five minutes of his” I would change ‘that’ to ‘those’

“been anymore than eight” any more

[Kia]

Thank you! :)

[MusicLover]

This is so good write more please