Mommy, why can't I hold the knife myself? or mom, why do I have to be home by 8? All the other girls are allowed to stay till 10, at least.
Marla had just gotten back from her daily walk and sat down in her chair on the porch overlooking the meadows and in the far distance the Rockies. She remembers those questions very well. It seems like a lifetime ago when time seemed to stand still and she spoke those words. Back then they'd lived in New Jersey and she couldn't wait to grow up and do all the grand adult things. Her parents owned a small apple farm, grew some other fruits, and held a few chicken and quails as well. To make ends meet they sold some of their home-grown herbs, fruits, and quail eggs at the weekly local farmer's market every Saturday morning. She had hated the market and crowds and never wanted to go, luckily, more often than not her parents let her stay at home.
Absently twirling in her hand a bouquet of clover blooms and leaves she had picked on her daily walk Marla smiled those had been the good times. While her parents were at the market she would play hide and seek with her friends or chase the quails around the farm. Other times, she would just lay under an apple tree in the orchard with Bailey their Irish wolfhound guarding her while she daydreamed watching the clouds passing over her. Today this would be unthinkable, who would leave their 8-year-old alone at home?
It really had been a lifetime ago, even World War Three had ended many years ago with the downfall of the world’s economic system after the dreaded pandemic had killed millions and nations went to war over resources and - power. The governments' plans back-fired, if they even had a plan Marla shook her head they sure didn't seem to care too much about life, human, animal, or plant. Everyone who survived paid the price. Now there was no more New Jersey, the apple farm was destroyed in the fall out from the nuke that wiped out Manhattan. A fate that was shared by every nation's capitals and big cities, all gone. After millions of lives were lost to the pandemic even more were lost during and from the after-effects of WW III.
Marla's thoughts returned to her home state. New Jersey, just like most of the once buzzing East coast of the United States now lies in dust. Where Marla had played catch with Bailey there was only wasteland, dead for generations to come. Many generations. Definitely not in my lifetime, unlike all those years ago, time seems to be flying. There's so much to do, so much to rebuild and connections to other survivors to be made - there just isn't enough time.
Just then Marla saw a four-leaf clover in the bouquet, and it glowed as she touched it. This glow widened around her hand, her arm until her whole body was shining in light, and she smiled sinking back into her chair. It started to gently rock back and forth and when Marla closed her eyes she saw clouds floating by and heard the wind in the apple trees and Bailey's bark in the distance - those had been good times indeed....
This brief short story is my contribution to the 101st weekend-engagement challenge which this time is all about time. I didn't quite know what to post for Galen's prompts but I felt a little inspired by something tarazkp had written in a post published just a few days ago. He said ...time relativity to experience and how a bad couple years for an adult, is a bad half a lifetime for a child. That is so true, everyone I know says it. As a child time seems to stand still while the older we get the faster time seems to fly.
This inspired me along with a couple of fiction writing prompts by shadows-pub (The four-leaf clover glowed as he touched it. + World War Three ended many years ago with the downfall of the world’s economic system.) to spin this little yarn here.
Here are some photos I took of clover and its bloom, unfortunately, no four-leaf clover among them 😁.
Have a great rest of your day!
Cheers,
(Ocean)Bee
Unless otherwise noted, copyright for all photos, dividers and gifs ©Oceanbee|ImagesByCW
