VigilanteSidekick
New Member
- Joined
- Dec 5, 2008
- Messages
- 2
Hi, this is the first short story I wrote. It's pretty much done, so what I'm looking for is peoples reactions to it. I have a few more stories I'll maybe submit later on.
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My dad often told me stories before I went to bed. It was a tradition of his, he would give me a glass of orange juice, sit down on the floor, and make up wonderful adventures of his youth. He would tell me how he had fought side by side with elves, slaying dragons or hordes of evil demons. Sometimes he would tell me about meeting historical figures like Albert Einstein, George Washington or King Richard II. My Mother always liked these stories better because she said they were educational, but dad somehow always turned it into some fantastic adventure once she stopped listening. As I stand in the house he grew up in, I wonder if his father did the same thing to him.
"What if you had a ring that would give you the power to do what men have only dreamed of doing since the first man walked on the plans of Africa? What if you had a ring that would give you the power of flight?" That was the start of one of my dads stories.
It was a story about how he was given such a ring by an old friend of the families.
"I'm growing old and I have no use for this anymore" the old man had said to him. "Since I have no children, and your parents have been such good friends to me in the last years of my life, I'd like you to have it. When you get home, put it on, stand outside and just jump into the air."
My dad said he was skeptical at first why he should do such a thing, but when he got home he did what he was told. He jumped up into the air; but he didn't come back down. He just hovered there, about three feet off the ground.
After a few weeks of using the ring's power in secret, for that is what the family friend had said to do when they talked again, he was able to fly above the city using only the ring. Night after night he would go out and sit on the highest building in the city and just look out over it. He would watch the traffic, the birds, or whatever else he could see, and he would think about whatever came to mind. After a while he started bringing things up there to do. He would do his homework, play his Gameboy, and listen to music up there above the city lights. He said it was only when he was up there that he could truly relax. He didn't have a care in the world.
I didn't really like this story much, I thought it would be much better if he used the power of the ring to fight off some dragon or an invading army or something like that. But it was his favorite. It was one of the few he told more then once without making any changes to it, and he told it by far the most out of those. At the time I just thought he told it so much because it was the only one with a moral; it also happened to be the only one with a unhappy ending.
In the story my dad grew up with the ring as his own little secret. He would hide it away under the attic floorboards every night after flying. But then one summer he went off to camp. Of course he wouldn't have time to go around flying at night since the camp counselors would keep a close eye on all the campers, so he left it behind. What he didn't think about was the fact that his parents had been planning to move for about a year, and while he was at camp for the summer they finally found the perfect place. A nice neighborhood with a good job for both of them close by, a good school for my dad, and a house that they could afford. His parents decided that they needed to act fast to get the house and they decided they had to move while he was away at camp. After all they must have thought, why would he want to be here for the move?
They surprised him with the news in a letter about halfway through his stay at camp. My dad was distraught over the lose of the ring; His parents had no idea of it's existence and now that they had sold the house, he wouldn't be able to prove how it worked. He had told no one about it since the family friend, who had by now passed away, had told him that if the word got out, some people might want to steal it. He had been so diligent, always keeping the ring safe; and now it was gone.
As I said there was a moral to this story; one that my dad would share with me every time he told it. It was simply: keep track of the things that make you happy, never allow them to be lost or forgotten.
I still think the story could have used some dragons; but now, years later, I know why it didn't have any. When I was twelve years old the doctors told my dad he only had a year left to live. About a month after I learned that he didn't have much longer in this world, he came into my room to tell me another story, something he had now resumed doing almost every night again. But this time he didn't have a story for me.
"I need to tell you something that I probably should have told you before now" he said choosing his words carefully. I didn't say anything, but he paused anyway.
"Do you remember the story I told you about the ring that allowed me to fly?" He asked finally.
"Yes, you told it again last night." I reminded him.
"I'm not really sure how to tell you this, but it was real."
I remained silent again, not trusting myself to say anything.
"Under the floorboards in the attic of my old house, there is a ring that gives the wearer the power of flight. I've never gone back to get it, but I've always dreamed that I would. I always thought that I would do some things beforehand, and then when I had more time, I would go back" he said, speaking faster now. "But I never found the time to go back, and it's my biggest regret. I want you to do what I haven't. Flying is something amazing, it's something I want you to have the chance to do. I know this sounds impossible, that's why I haven't told anyone about it ever. They wouldn't believe me. But it's real."
That was over two years ago. And that's why I've broken into my dad's childhood home.
I pause before climbing the stairs into the attic, a map my dad drew for me before he died in my hands, in search of the loose floorboard. I know in my heart that he wouldn't have lied to me; but part of me still doesn't believe it. Is it possible? Could I really fly?
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My dad often told me stories before I went to bed. It was a tradition of his, he would give me a glass of orange juice, sit down on the floor, and make up wonderful adventures of his youth. He would tell me how he had fought side by side with elves, slaying dragons or hordes of evil demons. Sometimes he would tell me about meeting historical figures like Albert Einstein, George Washington or King Richard II. My Mother always liked these stories better because she said they were educational, but dad somehow always turned it into some fantastic adventure once she stopped listening. As I stand in the house he grew up in, I wonder if his father did the same thing to him.
"What if you had a ring that would give you the power to do what men have only dreamed of doing since the first man walked on the plans of Africa? What if you had a ring that would give you the power of flight?" That was the start of one of my dads stories.
It was a story about how he was given such a ring by an old friend of the families.
"I'm growing old and I have no use for this anymore" the old man had said to him. "Since I have no children, and your parents have been such good friends to me in the last years of my life, I'd like you to have it. When you get home, put it on, stand outside and just jump into the air."
My dad said he was skeptical at first why he should do such a thing, but when he got home he did what he was told. He jumped up into the air; but he didn't come back down. He just hovered there, about three feet off the ground.
After a few weeks of using the ring's power in secret, for that is what the family friend had said to do when they talked again, he was able to fly above the city using only the ring. Night after night he would go out and sit on the highest building in the city and just look out over it. He would watch the traffic, the birds, or whatever else he could see, and he would think about whatever came to mind. After a while he started bringing things up there to do. He would do his homework, play his Gameboy, and listen to music up there above the city lights. He said it was only when he was up there that he could truly relax. He didn't have a care in the world.
I didn't really like this story much, I thought it would be much better if he used the power of the ring to fight off some dragon or an invading army or something like that. But it was his favorite. It was one of the few he told more then once without making any changes to it, and he told it by far the most out of those. At the time I just thought he told it so much because it was the only one with a moral; it also happened to be the only one with a unhappy ending.
In the story my dad grew up with the ring as his own little secret. He would hide it away under the attic floorboards every night after flying. But then one summer he went off to camp. Of course he wouldn't have time to go around flying at night since the camp counselors would keep a close eye on all the campers, so he left it behind. What he didn't think about was the fact that his parents had been planning to move for about a year, and while he was at camp for the summer they finally found the perfect place. A nice neighborhood with a good job for both of them close by, a good school for my dad, and a house that they could afford. His parents decided that they needed to act fast to get the house and they decided they had to move while he was away at camp. After all they must have thought, why would he want to be here for the move?
They surprised him with the news in a letter about halfway through his stay at camp. My dad was distraught over the lose of the ring; His parents had no idea of it's existence and now that they had sold the house, he wouldn't be able to prove how it worked. He had told no one about it since the family friend, who had by now passed away, had told him that if the word got out, some people might want to steal it. He had been so diligent, always keeping the ring safe; and now it was gone.
As I said there was a moral to this story; one that my dad would share with me every time he told it. It was simply: keep track of the things that make you happy, never allow them to be lost or forgotten.
I still think the story could have used some dragons; but now, years later, I know why it didn't have any. When I was twelve years old the doctors told my dad he only had a year left to live. About a month after I learned that he didn't have much longer in this world, he came into my room to tell me another story, something he had now resumed doing almost every night again. But this time he didn't have a story for me.
"I need to tell you something that I probably should have told you before now" he said choosing his words carefully. I didn't say anything, but he paused anyway.
"Do you remember the story I told you about the ring that allowed me to fly?" He asked finally.
"Yes, you told it again last night." I reminded him.
"I'm not really sure how to tell you this, but it was real."
I remained silent again, not trusting myself to say anything.
"Under the floorboards in the attic of my old house, there is a ring that gives the wearer the power of flight. I've never gone back to get it, but I've always dreamed that I would. I always thought that I would do some things beforehand, and then when I had more time, I would go back" he said, speaking faster now. "But I never found the time to go back, and it's my biggest regret. I want you to do what I haven't. Flying is something amazing, it's something I want you to have the chance to do. I know this sounds impossible, that's why I haven't told anyone about it ever. They wouldn't believe me. But it's real."
That was over two years ago. And that's why I've broken into my dad's childhood home.
I pause before climbing the stairs into the attic, a map my dad drew for me before he died in my hands, in search of the loose floorboard. I know in my heart that he wouldn't have lied to me; but part of me still doesn't believe it. Is it possible? Could I really fly?
