Welcome back, it is good to see that you have not yet give up on me. anyway, have you ever had something you think isn't special, but is, in its own way? I present to you: a new genre: Extraordinary Ordinary. Enjoy.
I stare at the sweater. The sweater stares at me. It's worn out, torn, dirty, and four sizes too
small. I pick it up, walk over to the garbage can, and stop. Something isn’t right. Even with all my
willpower and willingness, I cannot drop it into the trash can. My clutched hands are frozen. Memories come flashing back. What was I wearing when I won the raffle with only a few tickets? What was I wearing when I aced that test? What was I wearing when Rebeca said hi to me? The sweater remains clutched in my hand as I try to release it, but I cannot. My lucky sweater had been with me for years. Back then, when my mom gave it to me, it still was red, and fit me perfectly. I wore it almost every day. Now, a faded maroon sweater with several holes may have looked shabby, but was nonetheless special to me. I flop the sweater on my desk, where I take out a pair of scissors, and cut the thin fabric into one big square, then ask my mom to sow up the holes. As she handed the square back to me, I proceeded to washing the dirt and grime off of it. In the end, I have a brilliant red, lucky. Amazing.
Hankerchief
No comments:
Post a Comment