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JESSE RAYMOND CRISOSTO

Veteran, Army, currently trying to write a Sci-Fi series called, "Chaos, Myhope, Kintsugi and the Golden Scar. Also trying my hand at poetry.

Story part suggestions by JESSE RAYMOND CRISOSTO

Submitted on May 6, 2024 at 3:45 pm

I woke up with a start, disoriented and surrounded by darkness. My body ached, and I could feel the cold, hard ground beneath me. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realized I was lying on the wet grass outside the cottage. The storm had passed, leaving behind a calm and eerie silence.

I quickly sat up and looked around, searching for my siblings and Grandma. Panic set in as I couldn’t see them anywhere. I called out their names, my voice echoing through the stillness, but there was no response. Fear gripped my heart as I wondered what had happened to them.

With shaky legs, I stood up and stumbled towards the cottage. The door was wide open, swinging back and forth in the gentle breeze. I cautiously stepped inside, my heart pounding in my chest. The cottage was in ruins, furniture overturned, and shards of broken glass scattered across the floor. It was as if a tornado had ripped through the place.

I called out again, my voice trembling. “Grandma! Joshua! Evelyn! Zachary!” But the only response was the echo of my own voice bouncing off the walls. Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized they were gone, vanished without a trace.

Feeling a mix of grief, confusion, and determination, I decided to search for them. I couldn’t accept that they were just gone. I combed through the wreckage of the cottage, hoping to find some clue, some sign of where they might have gone.

Submitted on April 22, 2024 at 8:18 pm

Grandma was ready for them now, as she ushered them to the outside air beyond the door, teapot in hand. The rain pounded against their faces, and the wind howled through the trees, but they followed her, entranced, to a small cottage nestled in the woods. Inside, a fire crackled, and the scent of tea wafted through the air. Grandma poured steaming cups, and they sat, sipping, as she began to speak. “Your mother’s secrets are not mine to keep,” she said, her eyes gleaming with a knowing light. “But I will tell you this: she loved you all, and her choices were made with a heavy heart.” The words hung in the air, as they sipped their tea, trying to make sense of the tangled web of emotions and deceit. The wind and rain raged on outside, but in that moment, all was calm, as they sat together, united in their grief and confusion.

Submitted on April 15, 2024 at 1:56 am

It was a familial bond that connected us in a way that went beyond genetics. It was a reminder of the deep-rooted connections we shared, both visible and invisible.

As I looked into Evelyn’s eyes, memories of our mother flooded back. She had possessed the same captivating gaze, a kaleidoscope of colors that seemed to hold a universe of emotions within them. I remembered how her eyes sparkled with joy when she laughed, and how they darkened with worry during difficult times. Her eyes were a gateway to her soul, a canvas that revealed her innermost thoughts and feelings.

It dawned on me that our heterochromia was not merely a physical trait but a symbol of our shared experiences and shared strength. Our unique eyes were a testament to the resilience and love that flowed through our family, even in the face of adversity. It was a reminder that we were bound by something greater than ourselves, a bond that transcended the boundaries of time and space.

Submitted on April 8, 2024 at 5:34 am

As they stepped into the night, the stars above seemed to tremble, like tea leaves in a tempest. The hailstorm of depleted stars rained down, each one shattering just before the ground like a fireworks display in reverse. Yet, Grandma’s glow illuminated the path ahead, her usual beacon of light in the darkness. The teapot, now a vessel of the unknown, seemed to hum with a strange energy, its cracked spout whispering ancient secrets to the wind. They followed, mesmerized, as she poured a steaming stream of what looked like moonlight into cups that seemed to materialize from the shadows. And as they paused to sip their moonlight, the bitter taste of grief dissolved, replaced by feelings of sweet remembrance from times past. In this mystically magical moment, the veil between worlds seemed to thin, and they saw, in the swirling steam, visions of their loved ones, reunited and whole once more. Grandma smiled, her eyes sparkling like diamonds in the night, knowing that in this fleeting instant, her special tea pot and love had temporarily bridged the chasm of pain between life and death.

Submitted on April 1, 2024 at 1:51 am

As the clock’s reverberations faded, the silence was pierced by the soft rustling of memories, like leaves whispering secrets in the wind. The air thickened with the weight of untold stories, and the scent of forgotten moments filled the air like the fragrance of old books. Grief’s outstretched hand beckoned, inviting them to surrender to the abyss, to let go of the fragile threads that bound them to this world. And yet, even as the stars outside seemed to falter, a glimmer of defiance flickered.

Submitted on March 30, 2024 at 9:17 pm

But here they were, standing in Grandma’s living room, surrounded by a crowd of family and friends. The atmosphere felt different from what they had anticipated. There was no sign of sorrow or grief in anyone’s eyes. Instead, laughter and smiles filled the room.

Confusion washed over them as they tried to make sense of the unexpected scene. Grandma, usually a picture of solemnity during such occasions, was now adorned in a vibrant, floral dress, beaming with a contagious joy. Her silver hair was elegantly styled, and her makeup was flawless. It seemed as though she had prepared for a celebration rather than a somber gathering.

As they glanced around, they noticed the absence of the familiar teapot with the cracked spout. It had always been a symbol of Grandma’s warmth and hospitality. Its absence added to the surreal feeling of the moment.

Relatives and acquaintances mingled, sharing anecdotes and memories, their voices filled with laughter and excitement. It was as if they had entered a parallel universe, where mourning was replaced by mirth.

Approaching my cousin, who seemed equally perplexed, I whispered, “What’s going on? This doesn’t feel like a funeral at all.”

My cousin shrugged, a puzzled expression on their face. “I have no idea. Grandma insisted on planning everything herself. She said she wanted to celebrate life rather than mourn death. She also said she’s got a surprise for all the grandchildren afterwards. It’s definitely unusual, but maybe she knows something we don’t.”

As the evening progressed, it became evident that Grandma had orchestrated a unique farewell. An open mic was set up in the corner, and family members took turns sharing heartfelt stories and happy memories of their time with the departed loved one. Tears were replaced with laughter, and sorrow transformed into appreciation for a life well-lived.

Grandma, the mastermind behind this unconventional gathering, moved from person to person, embracing them tightly and whispering words of comfort and encouragement. Her infectious spirit seemed to uplift everyone in the room, turning what could have been a somber affair into a celebration of life and cherished connections.

As the night drew to a close, they found themselves grateful for the unexpected turn of events, but it became clear that Grandma had something up her sleeve.

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