Hello all! So for a while now, I’ve been doing some short writing exercises to help get me into a fiction writing mindset. I have many that I have done. Some of my results have been okay, and some of them actually turned out more than okay. I liked this particular piece, and decided to share. I hope you enjoy it too.
The Gift
I carefully picked up the scattered pieces of the broken purple mug. Half of a smile looked up at me from the shattered ceramic. It was all that was left of the once cartoon sketched smiley face on the side. The rest of the face gone. Yeah, it was a bit of a gaudy mug, but I still loved it. Though that might have to do with who gave it to me––my son.
He’d been six when he picked it out and proudly told me that it was my birthday gift from him. He said the mug was my favorite color and it had a smiley face, so it was perfect for me. I remembered chuckling at that. And as I went for the broom to sweep up the the smaller pieces, I chuckled again, remembering that moment.
I wasn’t sure how I would tell him I accidentally dropped the mug. I was all butterfingers this morning trying to make my tea. Maybe he wouldn’t mind. He was fourteen now. It had been so long ago since he’d gotten me the mug, maybe he wouldn’t even care. I swallowed a lump in my throat. I cared, and I was mad at myself for breaking it at all.
I swung the broom with a little more force than necessary, gathering up the remaining bits. And as I crouched down to whisk up the pieces, I let my mind wander to other gifts my son had given me over the years. I grinned as I realized the best had been all the hugs and kisses.
He liked doing that––coming up to me at random moments in the day to give me a great big hug. That always put a smile on my face, no matter what I was doing, or how I was feeling. I emptied the dustpan into the trash, remembering the hug he’d given me just last night before bed.
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Cynthia D. Griffin 