"Almost From a Distance" (StoryADay Challenge/Day 10)

(StoryADay Challenge - Day 10)

THE PROMPT (BY JULIE DUFFY IS THE FOUNDER AND HOST OF STORYADAY. HER MISSION IS TO SAVE THE WORLD BY SAVING WRITERS. SHE HELPS CREATIVE PEOPLE BECOME MORE PRODUCTIVE, MORE PROLIFIC AND MORE FULFILLED THROUGH THE STORYADAY CHALLENGES, HER SUPERSTARS GROUP, THE STORYADAY PODCAST, COURSES AND WORKSHOPS, AS WELL AS HER GUEST ARTICLES IN PUBLICATIONS LIKE WRITER’S DIGEST AND WRITER UNBOXED. SHE IS THE AUTHOR OF SEVERAL CREATIVITY GUIDES FOR WRITERS AND WRITES SHORT STORIES AND NOVELS FOR FUN.):

This is — stop me if you’ve heard me say this before — the 10th Anniversary of StoryADay May!

Today I challenge you to write a story that centers around the number 10.

It could be someone’s age, it could be a year, it could be the number of times something has happened (or has to happen).

Surprise me!

*

“Almost From a Distance”

On the sands of a tropical beach, lived a quiet elderly man. He had built himself a small shack that was far away from tourists and beach-goers. He never disturbed anyone, and mostly kept to himself. He had a bald head and a large grey beard that was twisted into a braid at the bottom. Some of the locals on the island waved to him as they passed by on long walks with their families. He would wave back and grin his toothless smile.The children picking up sea rocks and placing them in a hand pale. The sounds of waves crashing against the shore became musical. Sometimes he would compose little tunes, in his mind, to the oceanic sounds. The sand beneath his bare feet felt heavenly. He felt no urgency to ever wear traditional footwear again. For meals he fished in the ocean. Long ago, he made himself a spear out of multiple tree branches wrapped tightly with twine he found near the shore. He would patiently wait in waist-deep water for the fish to come to him. It was his belief in the cycle of life, that fish were meant to nourish the bodies of humans and that of other larger fish. The same way that buried human bodies would soon be once more, one with the earth.  After he caught enough for the day, he would bring them back to his shack. He would clean them, season them, and grill them over a handmade fire. Red snapper was the fish he caught often. He remembered catching a large tuna once. That tuna, after being preserved in salt, lasted him nearly two weeks. He was a happy fisherman. He knew the things of the world. He tasted those things before. He had acquired all that most people covet. And none of it eased the gaping hole within him. He thought about his mistakes that cost him things never to be recovered. That’s what hurt most. Although over time, he slowly learned to forgive himself, old thoughts would occasionally cross his mind. He wouldn’t try to rush these thoughts away. In his mind, he would observe them, almost from a distance. He would turn them around and view them from different perspectives. He acknowledged his mistakes and admitted them. There was nothing he no longer tried to hide from anyone, especially from himself. Now his focus was living peacefully. He had all he desired. The beautiful ocean in front of him could provide all his needs. It cleaned him, fed him and quenched his thirst. Every single day, he learned something new from the ocean. Locals would see him sitting cross-legged and shirtless, his hands folded in his lap, staring out into the ocean for hours. Because he was quiet and tidy with his small space, local authorities never harassed him or told him to find shelter elsewhere. For that he was always thankful. Thankful to the ocean for teaching him patience. For teaching him about healing. The elderly man had a small leather-bound notebook that we would write in. It was one of the only possessions he had from his past life. In the book he would mainly write questions. The questions were to the ocean. It didn’t matter how long it would take, sometimes hours, days, months, or even years. When the ocean was ready to reveal to him the answers, he would simply locate the question and jot down the answer beneath it. Then he would close the book, and squeeze it in his hands and thank the ocean again. He wasn’t interested in what others were interested in. He knew that a person’s walk was theirs and theirs alone. It neither mattered if others understood or supported. Neither was necessary. On a windier than usual evening, just as the sun was beginning to set, he saw a young boy with his mother. The small boy was carrying something in one hand, but the elderly man had trouble distinguishing it in the distance. 

The woman waved at him. “Hello,” she shouted in the distance. She was holding her son’s free hand. The elderly man smiled and waved back. 

“Go give him your gift Marcus,” she whispered. She let go of his hand and he ran off with youthful passion. 

“Hi,” Marcus said, to the elderly man. “I brought you something.”

Marcus looked back at his mother, and she gave him a reassuring head nod. 

The elderly man, sitting cross-legged, took the bag from the boy, placed it down on the sand and opened it. He reached inside and pulled out a hand-sewn quilt. The elderly man smiled at the young boy and put the quilt around his shoulders. It warmed him. Inside of the bag, he noticed a small golden locket. He reached for it with trembling hands. He spun open the locket and inside it he saw a picture taken many years ago of two people laughing beside each other. Beneath the picture a message: “Walt, thank you for ten incredible years of laughter. Looking forward to eternity with you. I Love You Forever. - B.”

Tears streamed down the elderly man’s eyes.  He looked at the young boy and put his hand on  the boy’s head and smiled.

“Happy Birthday Grandpa,” Marcus said.

The End.

**This is a work of fiction. Names. characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.