Enter your story of 300 words or less. |
Sally flipped the thick pages slowly. She eyed each picture, every snapshot. Her lips curled deviously. How would he react to her snooping? Probably act like the baby in these pictures. Ha! He wouldn't cry, just frown, his forehead crinkling like paper. He was sweet, really. Maybe that's why she could never stop teasing him. But she loved him. Fuzzy sparks of warmth tickled her cheeks. Fondly, she traced the smile of a young Benjamin. Rubbing her thumb and index finger together, they felt wet, she turned the page. Ah, a park this time. He must have been a good kid, facing the camera for every photo. Ben liked to listen. Never talked. But he was happy, wasn't he? He never complained. When she first met him, he seemed to just be shy. She was the opposite. While his silence coated parties, grinding them to a halt as the jubilance fled, Sheila WAS the party. Wait, that couldn’t be right! But there was a faint memory. Gripping several of the thick pages, she flipped to the back. Her wedding day. The day wild and rowdy Sheila had settled down, her friends had said. The bride and groom facing the camera, as was the priest that married them. “Who took this picture?” the thought echoed through her mind. “Who took any of these pictures?” She never met Ben’s parents. Didn't she remember him saying he grew up alone? “Where did you get that?” It was raspy, as if thousands of pens had all scratched the words right into the air. “I found it in the attic.” She whispered. Scared. “Then the attic you will return to. Forever.” Putting the book, now entitled “Sheila” on a shelf in the attic, he grinned. It was time to scrapbook himself a new life. |