Knick-Knack

As Ken entered his mother’s house an overwhelming sadness seemed to envelope him; everything was as she left it yet she was gone.

How could it be ?The enormity of it hit him and he wished Vera was with him, although he had told her not to come.

He wanted to look round himself before they had to empty mum’s belongings. He went to her bedroom and pulled open the dressing table draw, it was full of bits and pieces , but a small white box caught his eye.

On the top in a childish hand was written ; to Mum love Kenny xxx. He felt totally gutted , tears welled up in his eyes , it was the cheap necklace he had brought with his pocket money when he was ten years old. It was worthless yet his mum had kept it thirty years because she loved him and now she was gone. He picked it up and put it in his pocket and then he had a vision of the future.

He imagined his Vera in thirty years and his own son just as he is now contemplating her death. What a cruel thing time is stripping us of all those we love and finally taking us off into the everlasting. Then he saw the otherside of the coin; after all time brought us many joys , new birth , new experiences , new friends and the joy of living.

Then he knew the only thing he wanted to keep of his mothers , was the cheap necklace, it would remind him that value is not what a thing is worth but what it means.

5 thoughts on “”

  1. Good micro short story, I enjoyed it. Quote: “after all time brought us many joys , new birth , new experiences , new friends and the joy of living.”
    I try to imagine timelessness and whether or not stuff would still “move” then. My conclusion is ‘yes.’ So the question is, were these things brought to us by time or by our own creative will? Time is like God: we give it credit, but does it deserve it? I think not.

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  2. When I was a lad my dad wrote in my autograph book : Time is part of everything and everything is part of time, consider this carefully and perhaps you will solve the greatest of all mysteries. He was an unusual man ; a plumber all his life but quite a good self taught pianist.
    He knew little of Einstein and relativity but in spite of Einstein we live in a Newtonian time world as any graveyard testifies.
    H.G Wells penned the brilliant story ‘ The New Accelerator ‘ in which time is accelerated for the inventor and everything in the world seems to stand still since a few seconds is stretched to an hour.
    ‘The blast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
    And all that beauty , all that wealth e’er gave,
    Awaits alike the inevitable hour.
    The paths of glory lead but to the grave.’

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  3. When my mother passed, I remember deciding to keep simply a smally green crystal decanter, only 2 inches tall at most. I’d never seen it in younger days, but began to notice it on a shelf in her kitchen during her retirement years. And I saw it had no purpose, save that it expressed her aesthetic sense and occupied a tidy little spot. I agree with this sentiment — of only needing to retain a simple thing. But as a decade passes, I see really only the memories matter. ANd they cannot dissolve away, but exhibit a life of their own.

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