Posted by: DIYwriting | August 9, 2021

The Sword

“That’s the sword,” I whispered.  “The sword that changed everything.  The sword we all own our lives to.” 

As I looked at Marty, I saw that Marty had already fallen asleep.  He usually made it through the story so he could talk about the sword, but today had been a hard day.  Today was the day he had to say goodbye to everyone he had loved and he had cried the entire drive home. 

Nothing I said consoled him so I finally let him cry in peace and tried to not start crying myself.   I was a crier – sad tears, happy tears, too much laughing tears – I never understood the people who will tell me they never cry or that they don’t remember the last time they cried.  I cried yesterday.  I couldn’t always help myself and if I tried to hold the tears back, I usually cried more than I meant to. 

I stayed on the edge of Marty’s bed and contemplated everything he had gone through in his short life and almost didn’t want to leave.  This would be the last night in the only home he had ever known and I was afraid getting up from the edge of his bed would wake him up.  I wanted to make sure he was safe, but not sure I could keep him wrapped in a cocoon like I wanted.  Not after our grandmother died.  I only hoped our grandmother’s death was really an accident like the police thought. 


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