I spent most of September on a road trip to visit old friends in my home state and came home through a storm of golden light and falling leaves. A glorious melancholy end to a nostalgic trip. So when I saw this week’s photo prompt on Friday Fictioneers, this is the 100 word story I came up with: (interesting timing, no?)
The wind was cold at the top of the bleachers. She sat hunched, staring down at the empty playing field. The long-awaited twenty-year reunion game was over, everyone had said their goodbyes bravely and left, hiding relief. Fieldlights came on, pushing back at the twilight in their dumb robotic way.
She felt the rumble of his climb through the metal bench. He stopped in front of her, rubbing his artificial hip, breathing heavily.
“Time to go home?” he murmured.
She looked up at him and then back at the empty field. “Jimmy, when did we all get so damn old?”
Genie in a Box: Words and thoughts from Eugenia Parrish, Author 
The question of the ages. Or maybe just the aged 🙂 It happens a lot sooner than you ever thought it would. I love the mood of your story.
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Ain’t it the truth! Thanks for the great comment.
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Time marches on. Very well-told story, Eugenia.
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Exactly. Thank you.
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You’re welcome.
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Wonderfully evocative, and that final question that comes to us all at various stages. Ageing is a cruel part of life. Well done.
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Thank you! I wanted to touch on something that strikes all of us.
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“the rumble of his climb” – that was such a telling phrase – I could almost feel the sensation. Lovely touch.
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Thank you! How well I remember the constant vibration of all those people. It seemed to me that just one person would mean something different.
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Dear Genia,
The song Those Were the Days comes to mind. “Oh my friend, we’re older but no wiser. For in our hearts the dreams are still the same.” Well done and good to see you back.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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That’s about how I was feeling, yes. Thanks for reading.
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Good thoughts. And the drive across eastern New York was glorious. I used to love autumn; it was my favorite season. But I love the sun too, and hate to see shorter days come. Ah, well, a new year awaits.
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I’d better hurry home. Glooo-oom and doo-oom seem to be taking over. Think: fall — crisp, dry air — new school year, new pencil box — and we’re MUCH smarter than we were last year.
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