Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Memory

I'm not looking for sympathy or pity; I'm surrounded all day long by nurses who are paid to take pity on me.

What I am looking for is someone to help me into their car, and take me for a drive through the neighborhood, so I can see once again the green coming back to the lawns, and blossoms flourishing on the trees. Let me see again the little children splashing in puddles of mud, and playing catch in the field.

I'm not looking for tapes and CDs and books; music plays here from sunup to sundown, whether I like it or not. And every book I want to read, I've already read.

What I am looking for is someone to sit with me, and sing with me the songs I love; the songs of my childhood church days, the songs we used to sing on quiet evenings at home.

I'm not looking for someone to buy me a newspaper; the newspaper only reminds me that I have one less friend today than I had yesterday, and that the world is a worse place today than it was on the day I was born. The newspaper only makes me wonder if I even made a difference in this miserable place.

What I am looking for is someone to sit and tell me the stories of their lives and the people in their lives. Tell me your secret hopes and dreams, and the ways you want to change the world for the better.

I'm not looking for someone to tell me about x-box and instant messages and idk what else; those are part of a world I no longer understand, or am part of. And in truth, I have no interest in learning about it.

What I am looking for is someone to sit in silence and listen, maybe to hold my hand, maybe to ask me a question, and listen to me tell the stories of my world - the world that exists nowhere else but in my memory.

What I am looking for, what I desperately want to know, is that after I am gone, I will be remembered.

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