I have another blog. I haven’t shared it before today, but today’s writing prompt, *Childhood Revisited, seemed to fit best on the other side. The stories I share are from memory, and sometimes will be raw and brutally honest. Everyone has a past. This one is mine.
Why do very old memories lose their color over time? They seem to fade like early snapshots from an old Brownie box camera, and yet, even lacking color they do not lose their emotion.
Standing there, holding onto the coffee table for balance, she looks to the front door of the apartment they live in. There is a couch behind her and in front of the coffee table there is a reading chair by the window. Though tiny of stature she can sense that the room is small.
Then the door opens, and there is her father filling the space of the door frame. As he walks in he smiles and looks down at her. Dressed in creased and pressed military slacks and a white undershirt, he wears his cap folded flat and tucked in at the waist. She notices there is something on his shoulder. Reaching up to…
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