Tag Archives: daughter

Flowers by the Track

flower tracks.jpg

Entry to this week’s Friday FIctioners! Photo courtesy of the reclining gentleman.

“It’s time” announced papa as a gentle rumble crept over the train tracks.

“I’m scared! What’ll happen to you?” cried the youngling with a doleful look below.

“The wind has come to take me and scatter my essence across the land. Such is the way of life my child.”

The tracks began to shake; hum turned into roar. The youngling covered her eyes and whispered “Will I ever see you again?”

Papa nodded and faced the sun.

A resounding whoosh followed an eclipse.

When the child opened her eyes, papa was gone.

A single yellow petal fluttered against the wind.


Check out other works for this week’s photo prompt at



I have encountered many vessels in this world but never one to have possessed me so. You see, tea cups are special containers where memories can be placed into so that others might experience them first-hand. When filled to the brim, one can channel recollections of old into clear images would be impressed upon the watery surface. With repeated impressions, a memory would be “burned” into the basin and reproducible at any time. Drinking from these burned-in cups would allow anyone to encounter these memories in their dreams.

One memory that stood out amongst the multitudes was of a young girl skipping rocks by a near frozen pond. It was late autumn and the trees were bare yet the cold did not seem to bother her. I was father who hadn’t seen my daughter in three years during my service in the army. As I ruminated from afar, a twinge of regret filled the condensation of the chilly air. I should have left the service sooner. Will she remember my face? Do I remember her face?

I try to approach my daughter from across the snowy knolls behind her. However as I cross one mound, another one seemly appears before me like Xeno’s hare, moving but never catching up. I double back to circumnavigate the pond so I can get a better look at her. But no matter the vantage point, she faces away from me, continuing to skip rocks.  Is she reminding me of the number of times I had skipped out from her life I thought? Odd that her throws are so consistent. Finally, I decide to cross the frozen section of the pond. Nearing the centre, I hear a sudden crack following my latest footstep. Is this the extant of my last memory of her? I fall through the ice and promptly woke up. Quickly I refilled the tea cup by my bed side, took a sip, and went back to sleep.