Standing Room Only

A World of Short Stories

Dreaming My Life Away

“I told you dreaming would do you no good.  It will do nothing.  Your life is here,” my father kicked the soil and I hoped he didn’t move the seeds I had so carefully planted. 

“I know what you have said, but I can’t stop.  I don’t know what I am supposed to do when I am in the fields all day by myself.  I tell stories into the tape recorder and then write them down.” 

My father sighed and looked out over the newly planted fields.  As he turned back to me, I could see the determination in his face.  I knew he didn’t think writing could be a worthwhile hobby, but I had to do something to keep my mind busy. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan to leave the farm.  My life is here, but I also love to write.  Telling stories into a tape recorder is only a way to keep me from getting too distracted.”  My father sighed again as he turned back toward the house. 

I knew he was afraid I was going to leave the farm just like my brother did.  My dad hadn’t warned him not to dream and now he was off living in the city.  Living in a small apartment, staying inside all day and losing himself in the process.  I knew the accident was why he left.  I also knew he would never forgive himself and my father would never forgive him.  Even though my mother’s death was my fault. 



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