This is my first post here and I'm a little apprehensive because mostly I've seen poems posted and not many short stories. This is a beginning of a story about memories, inspired by a locally published book entitled Knoxville Bound and the encouragement of a good friend of mine. I apologize for any grammatical of spelling mistakes. Anyway, here is the beginning:
As I get older, a mist grows steadily thicker around my East Tennessee childhood memories, now almost as thick as the fog surrounding the endless rolling mountains, which appear to be only islands emerging from a sea of rolling white.
I recall walking through the woods, stopping at an ancient rock and gently tearing away its blanket of evergreen, which was to be placed in my third grade science project, a dinorama, with bits of aluminum foil representing water and multi-colored plastic dinosaurs that I had bought at Hammers, our local general store.
I was proud of my creation, to me it was a perfect snap shot of Prehistoria. I waited patiently as the teacher judged every third grader's version of the Jurassic period, and believe me there were many, as you can imagine. Slowly, she worked her way to my desk, nervousness and anticipation overtook me.
"Too much moss." Her words poured out of her mouth like poison. She scribbled something down on her worn out clip board and side-stepped her cruel face to the next exhibit.
"Too much moss?" I thought, my fragile feelings crushed. Moss was EVERYWHERE in the forest where I lived. She didn't comment on the artificial tin-foil water or the cheap neon dinosaur miniatures.
She must've been from town, herself living in an artificial world, where nature itself would to her seem out of place. I did not care for her, her town-like ways, or for her blasphemy against the greenery I had so lovingly gathered.
Carefully removing the moss (and throwing the rest if the dinorama in the dark recesses of my closet), I trekked back through the woods to replace the rock's stolen blanket. I hoped the moss lived and didnt mind me taking it to school, only to be insulted for being "too much." I was wrong to take it and I walked back home, the wind blew against my back.
Even this memory is fading as time flows on. Were the leaves watching over me as I took the moss the bright red and oranges of Fall or the fresh newly born foliage of Spring? This knowledge is perhaps lost forever, although after I moved away from my Tennessee home, I had thought often of my experiences of my childhood in the middle of no-where....
copyright by jambrew Nov 2004
Last edited by jambrew
on 25 Dec 2004, 20:29, edited 2 times in total.