The mother was a slender freckled lady, with arms like swaying branches, but something about her shined through her dotted face, her pale lips and big purplish-gray eyes. It made her pretty, in a way.

The father had deep-set eyes and a face showing creases of experience. His sad eyes looked tragic under the glow of an inscrutable sailor's moon, but sincere in front of a glimmering April sun. His hair was neat and fuzzy, dark as a starless night.

Blue. Sometimes it'll be a jolly periwinkle but most of the time it'll be a worn navy. It's a colour that you'll see everywhere throughout life.

The red-cheeked mother smiled passionately as she cradled the sweet creature in her arm under the harsh blue light. she held the small thing in front of the lights, it was a powerful contrast. She kept crying bittersweet, she had brought life to earth. The whole family swarmed in, leaving pink presents and envelopes full of congratulation and little pop-up giraffes.

The baby's face was like a delicate blossom, her twinking dark eyes were fringed with blue. When the baby smiled, her face would bloom into a beautiful picture. She had a slow smile; almost sad, from her father.

The tense, sweating father paced; his legs couldn't stop moving. The thoughts were crowding up in his head, some warm and golden, but most of them were blue.

They loaded everything up into a tide blue Audie and launched anxiously onto the car-filled road. When the parents witnessed the birth of the baby, they couldn't help but feel special. It was odd to feel special in the crowd in this monotonous world.

The two twisted the up-to-date handle, ready for the problems and surprises that they'd face in the house. The house was a small one. One made just for new families. It was a small brick house, cramped into a cookie-cutter neighbourhood with shining shingles and fresh, clear windows. They both walked, hand-in-hand into the dusty house, one parent holding the baby tightly. It was congested with thin weathered cardboard boxes strapped in shiny black tape. It opened up onto a lawn, which was filled with deep blueberry bushes, bursting with tangy, ripe, cream, red-tipped blossoms. The silence was unbearable, all they could hear was the soft blue breaths of the newborn.

They gently placed the sleeping child into the pale yellow crib that they'd taken forever to assemble and sat cross-legged, staring into the deep blue eyes of the baby under the faint shine of the golden moonlight.

A short year later, the mother held the rosy baby who was dressed in a sweet blue sailor's dress and walked out the door, brushing her brown aureoles of hair.

The parents gripped the beauty of a child tenaciously and protectively as they walked through the blue sea of family and friends, balloons and confetti, and appetizers and cakes.

Then the parents, (who had recently overcome their nervous jitters), and the baby blew out the orange dancing flame sitting on top of a waxy dotted blue candlestick. The crowd clapped and the baby giggled as soft as the woodland thunder.

Three years later, they strapped the toddler into a heavy velcro seat and drove to preschool; the mother was unable to hold back the blue tears that speckled her long lashes like sapphire gems. They both watched as she waddled into the low-ceilinged brick building and sighed as she was taken into her teacher's arms. Away.

Two years later, "Say cheese!" the father put on the timer and they all ran in front of the camera which was seated on a stand. The kindergartener held up her glittery cardboard sign. The picture was a memorable one, the child had on a pearly headband, which settled her wild bangs. The mom had a little jam on her cheek from making her first peanut butter and jelly sandwich and the dad was half-asleep since he had stayed awake the prior night.

Five long years later, on a bright lemonish day :

"Make good decisions, sweetheart" the mother exclaimed.

"I will," sighed the child, with a slight roll of her eyes.

"Did you forget anything? Lunchbox...Binder, pencil case?"

"I'm fine mom, bye."

They both stood behind a neatly trimmed shrub in front of Bayview Middle School.

The mother watched pridefully as her daughter marched away into her own life. The students flooded her until she was unseen by the watchful eyes of her caring mother.

Four years later, the mom packed a sky blue hearty paper bag. The teenager refused it. The dad insisted to come, the teenager also refused that. The teenager marched into the swarm of highschool students, her forehead sweating and her nerves tingling.

One year later, the young lady walked down the chestnut staircase in a sparkling emerald dress, her eyes still the vivacious blue that they'd been when she was born. The dad held a hunky camera and took what seemed like a million pictures. Her first school dance.

Ten years later, the dad's forehead had started to grow creases and the mom's thinning hair was turning a lightning silver. They both sat on little wood chairs in a clearing in a fiery autumnal forest under the yellowed trees, watching their daughter recite her vows, with blue faces.

Two years later, the weeping daughter and her husband stood in the blue pattering, despondent rain under the shelter of a dripping black umbrella. The daughter sobbed as she watched the newly dug soil. She dropped her crisp periwinkle flowers and ran out of sight, away from the ghosts of her dead parents and into the cold tears of misery.

As sad as it might be, the daughter (now a mother) sung to the small newborn in her tired pale arms under the bright blue lights of the hospital.

Then the child of this mother will go to school. Make new friends, then marry again and live in a two-garage house in a gloomy suburb, raising her own child. Most people's lives have no impact, it's just a never-ending cycle, but everything does have a small tinge of blue in it.

May 16, 2020 02:49

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Joshua Hopper
21:34 May 27, 2020

I loved this story of coming of age. Such a simple concept. I'd try doing this story without the narrative time cards (two years later). Instead, let the develop organically. The next day, she was a teenager. I'll never forget the day I saw her receive her diploma. I hope that makes sense.


ℤ ℍ☮️
01:14 May 28, 2020

That's really helpful. I just cannot write it from "first-person". Because it breaks the whole point. But I'll try your idea, it sounds really great.


Joshua Hopper
01:44 May 28, 2020

Absolutely! The POV is all yours to determine.


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