My friend, Sue, participates in a thing called Saturday Centus --- from what I gather, participants are given a short story theme each week and must write something brilliant (of course) in 100 words or less, incorporating said theme.
Now, I'm no writer, but the idea intrigued me and several weeks ago I started thinking that I might borrow the weekly theme and try to work my Saturday image around it. Ironically, this week's theme, but more particularly Sue's entry, was perfect to get me started.
The theme...She lifted the stack of letters from the ancient chest...
This small wooden chest was given to me as a gift. It sits on a shelf in my office and contains letters and notes written to me by special friends and loved ones. It has images of old envelopes and letters on the outside of it. In one corner is a letter with the name of the city in Germany where my father was born, the addressee's name being the same as my father's family and the postmark being around the time when my great great grandfather lived. The person who gave it to me neither knew that nor would they have cared, as the giver turned out to be something other than a friend in the end. Nonetheless, I've held onto the box because I've always been a bit intrigued by the "coincidence" of it. I don't know the names of my ancestors beyond my great grandfather, but I'm certain that one day I will. Meanwhile, the box remains a connection to an unknown past or at least a reminder of it.
Now, I'm no writer, but the idea intrigued me and several weeks ago I started thinking that I might borrow the weekly theme and try to work my Saturday image around it. Ironically, this week's theme, but more particularly Sue's entry, was perfect to get me started.
The theme...She lifted the stack of letters from the ancient chest...
This small wooden chest was given to me as a gift. It sits on a shelf in my office and contains letters and notes written to me by special friends and loved ones. It has images of old envelopes and letters on the outside of it. In one corner is a letter with the name of the city in Germany where my father was born, the addressee's name being the same as my father's family and the postmark being around the time when my great great grandfather lived. The person who gave it to me neither knew that nor would they have cared, as the giver turned out to be something other than a friend in the end. Nonetheless, I've held onto the box because I've always been a bit intrigued by the "coincidence" of it. I don't know the names of my ancestors beyond my great grandfather, but I'm certain that one day I will. Meanwhile, the box remains a connection to an unknown past or at least a reminder of it.
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