29 feb 2012

Fine-tuning our writing 2

Embellishing and finishing a story

The first blush in the morning had just risen up, a little bit early for the retired Martin. After an entire lifetime waking up every morning at the break of the day to get to the printer´s, he would now choose and take a breather, staying pleasently in bed until the sun had breakthrough the window of his spacious but companionless room. But this particular day he was overcome with a rather weird and particular feeling. Such a singular perception that he suddenly felt the necessity to get out of  bed and  so quick as a flash he dressed up, took the book written by her beloved daughter, who recently died because of a long illness, trying to figure out in this book the last message she wanted to confide him but didn´t reach to do it.
The mockingbirds were singing so sweetly outside in the courtyard, mainly all over the centurial circus tree that Martin´s great grandfather had planted according to the family record. Suddenly there was utter stillness, such an absolute silence that Martin was  totally affected. He stood up and peered throug the window with wide open eyes and with atonishment he perceived a little boy sitting under the circus tree, he was not older than ten, wearing old clothing and he was reading a book. The perception was so out of context that Martin had to  rubbed his eyes to convice himself that he was not dreaming. For a long time he stared at this little fellow who was immersed and profoundly concentrated in his book, as if that place was his acustomed place of reading, a corner of his own garden. Then Martin crept downstairs, very carefully without making a single noise, opened the glass door onto the garden and again creaping carefully in order not to interrupt the boy, he approached the circus tree. Nearing the ground, he asked the boy: "It seems a wonderfull book, doesn´t it?" For the first time, the boy looked away from the pages , gave Martin a steady look and broke into a rather timid smile but in a enthusiastic way he said:"It is the book of my life".
When Martin saw the cover of the book, to his surprise he realized that it was the same book he had picked up this morning, the favorite book of his daughter. The  hunch created inside of him that both, this little boy and his recently buried daughter had something in common was inevitable and a growing eagerness to discover started to emerge at a tremendous speed, so without hesitating  he asked the boy: "Tell me sweet boy, who has given you this book and why is it the book of your life?" And  the boy answered; " It was a present from my mum who wrote it especially for me with an essential message, that I wouldn´t be alone, and that under a circus tree a good old man would  find me and would take care of me and will call me grandson"

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