Dragonstone Tablet

A Story :: Memories in Faded Prints

Memories in Faded Prints

The leather cover of the old photo album felt cool and worn beneath Gerard's fingertips. Its scent, a mix of old paper and the faintest hint of vanilla, was a bittersweet wave of nostalgia as he dared to open its brittle binding. It had been years, a self-imposed exile from this evidence to a life that now seemed tinged with an impossible vibrancy. He lingered over his own childhood snapshot, a mischievous glint unmistakable in his toddler eyes, chubby cheeks smeared with a curious mix of jam and triumph.

"Remember when you'd throw a tantrum at the mere sight of a shampoo bottle?" His mother's voice broke through his reverie, a twinkle in her eye. "Your war cries could shatter glass! We couldn't even mention the 'B' word - bath - without a full-scale meltdown. It nearly drove us to distraction!"

Gerard chuckled, the memory bringing a rush of warmth chased by a prickle of embarrassment. "A wonder I have any hair left at all, Ma. The battles were epic. Makes me surprised those squeaky rubber ducks survived the war."

He flipped pages slowly now, each turn bringing a flicker of familiar ghosts. There was his school picture from fourth grade, a shy gap-toothed grin on display, and then – his graduation photo. It captured a flicker of youthful uncertainty masked by the proud set of his jaw. A wave of longing washed over Gerard as he paused at the sight of his father. Gone was the sternness that so often marked the man's features, replaced by a hint of hidden laughter that made the photo feel achingly alive. His own eyes mirrored his father's, the same shade of earnest blue. He'd inherited his father's quiet strength, and his persistent stubbornness, qualities that had served him both for better and worse.

"Do you think..." Gerard started, voice catching slightly, "...he'd be proud of the man I've become? That I made something of his hard work, that I didn't...waste the opportunities he scraped together?"

His mother's gaze enveloped him like a comforting blanket. "He adored you, Gerry. You were his world. Of course, he'd be proud. I know I am." The simple words were a balm, but they couldn't erase the ache of the question. Time may heal all wounds, but some leave scars so deeply etched they remain a part of you.

The album unfolded a blur of birthdays, vacations, and silly family traditions. There was a photo of him blowing out candles on his sixth birthday, chocolate frosting smeared across his face, surrounded by laughter. Then, his wedding photo, slightly out of focus but capturing the sheer joy radiating from his younger self. Next to him stood Sarah, a vision in white and sunlight, his beautiful Sarah. He ran a trembling finger over her face, the pang in his chest sharp and relentless. Grief was a relentless tide, threatening to pull him under, a constant reminder of the love he'd lost.

"Careful, love," his mother warned gently, her hand a ghostly presence on his shoulder. "Don't dwell too long in the past. It's a heavy place, full of shadows. You have to keep moving forward."

Gerard blinked back tears. "It's just...sometimes it feels like only yesterday, fresh as paint. Then I wake up, and it hits me all at once. Like a punch to the gut. I don't know how..."

"I know, dear." His mother's voice was barely a whisper. "But Sarah...she wouldn't want you to get lost in that sorrow. Remember what she'd say - 'Chin up, buttercup! Life's too short for moping.'"

He could almost picture his wife, the bright tilt of her smile, hear the playful scolding in her voice. Her infectious laugh echoed in the room, a phantom melody. "Yeah...yeah, she would," Gerard finally managed, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself in the present, to push back the wave of sorrow.

"You have so much to offer the world still, Gerry," his mother continued, her voice filled with quiet determination. "Don't let these memories become shackles. Embrace them, let them honor her memory, and let them be fuel for the days ahead. She'd want you to keep living."

Gerard closed the album with a soft thud. A weight had lifted, if only slightly. He wasn't sure how to find that joy his mother spoke of, how to let the light back in, but maybe, just maybe, it was possible. With her quiet support and the legacy of his loved ones, it was a small glimmer, a fragile tendril reaching for the sun, but it was a start.

WORD COUNT:768 Words
WRITTEN FOR: "The North Remembers"  of "Game of Thrones" 
PROMPT:
WHAT'S HIS STORY? - Written from a male perspective
#23. Start your story with a character looking through an old family photo album.