Stories that Smile at You
To Live For
(c) Linda Hutchison June 2016
To Die For
“It’s nearly time!” they bellowed over the loud speaker. We rushed back into line, pushing and jostling, poking with elbows and shoving with shoulders for more leverage. We strained forwards to the light, anticipation redoubling. Treasures of untold worth lay ahead. Our very life depended on them. Then I saw her fall, immediately swamped by driving forms. A long-drawn out scream, then her sound drowned out by the frantic crowd. The bell clanged as the doors swung open, and the people surged into the building. Behind them she lay lifeless on the concrete – another victim of the Boxing Day sales.
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To Live For
“You have six to twelve months,” said the Oncologist gently. They looked at each other then back at the doctor. It was time to make some changes. On the way home they decided not to mention the disease again. Too much of their life had been swallowed up by it already. She rang her dive buddy, checked her underwater camera and packed her pink scuba gear in the car. As she slowly drifted out beneath the pier to visit the smooth rays, the squid and the octopus, she knew that this was what she lived for. And so she did.
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To Ache For
She had lost him. Forever. It was too hard to bear. She stared unseeingly around her, not noticing the squalid conditions of the camp, the ragged tent and soiled bedding. She had held his hand so tightly, but in the chaos, he had been dragged away from her and all she could hear was him crying out, “Mama, mama…” It echoed in her head. Pounding. Across the camp, less than a kilometre away, he sat cradled in the arms of an aid worker, crying inconsolably. Two hearts aching unbearably, separated at completely the wrong time, torn apart by man’s pride.
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To Pray For
Children everywhere. So many cheerful faces. Each one so precious and uniquely made in God’s image. Some had bright starts, some didn’t, but all had a bright future if they could but see it. And it was her job to help them find hope wherever life had placed them. She bent down to the undersized boy as he handed her a clumsily handmade card. The drawing on the front showed a small child facing a mountain. She smiled somewhat perplexedly then opened it. It read ‘With your prayers, and Jesus’ hand, I know I can make it to the top.’
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To Seek For
I knew it was here somewhere. I opened yet another drawer and reached for yet another jewellery box. This one was worn blue velvet, lined with pale blue satin. Empty. I reached for the box beside it and shook it to make sure it had something inside. Something thudded gently within. I opened the box carefully and there it lay – my grandmother’s beautiful enamelled brooch, complete with leaves, flowers and three tiny but perfect lemons. I remembered it pinned to her navy woollen coat, and her jugs of homemade lemonade. Sunny Melbourne summers and English gardens rested in my hand.
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