On My Way I Saw…

They say, everyone has a story. I agree, but not all are worth writing about. Not all are worth wondering about and not everyone can write them down and make them wonderful.

But then there are writers. They see people, assume stories about them and wonder. And there is no harm in wondering, I guess, as long as it keeps the inspiration to its highest. Or as long as it soothes your craving to tell a story. To talk about what you saw and how you think it must have gone.

So here is a little something. Something I saw as just a passing shot while I was traveling to my destination. Just a glimpse of a person, place something that made me wonder.

A little girl wearing a fancy frill frock, with her hair down and holding them back with a hairband. Standing in one of the biggest kids’ showroom, admiring a toy. Now honestly, I don’t have a story for her. No assumptions, no wondering but just this image of hers. Her head, titling all the way back to look at that toy car, her hands at her side and in that second that I saw her, she was standing very still. May be she was dreaming about that car, may be she just liked its colour, may be she was looking at faults in that car, may be she was looking at it with dislike, may be she was just looking at it while her mind was far away someplace completely different. We would never know for I was just passing by, I couldn’t even have another look at her.

A family of four, eating at an open restaurant where the father of the family takes his bite and then puts his other hand on, most probably, his son, who is enjoying his meal too. May be he is a nice father who have a strong bond with his son. May be he was just a distant uncle treating the kids for the first time. May be and may be and we will never know the truth for I couldn’t even see who the other people, sitting at the table with the man and the boy were and after all, I was just passing by, getting just a glimpse of their lives.

A cottage I had seen many times. It’s roof a bit falling in. The sides of it covered with bushes and branches of trees. It’s wooden door rotting, its windows packed with wooden boards. It always seemed to me abandoned. Yet, that day, I saw a bike in its driveway. Standing there, all shiny. It’s owner might be inside the cottage, having a look, thinking of raising everything there to their former glory. Or a killer, looking at the spot to hide a body, or a curious passerby or just a person who left the motorbike there and went somewhere nearby the cottage. I would never know……


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