Here is a little tale I’ve just written at work. (Hope my boss doesn’t see this! 😂) It is somewhat of a fictional tale, although it was inspired by real events from my past and present. That’s how I write most things, I use whatever I’m feeling at any given moment, (happiness, sadness, etc.) and then search for a song to write to. (I always need a song.) In this case, I was feeling a bit nostalgic, as my family is selling the home which I and my siblings grew up in, and starting a wonderful new chapter. The song I wrote to, was Mother Earth and Father Time by Debbie Reynolds, which my sweet mother used to sing to us when we were young.
Hope you enjoy! 💛
The Chester’s Little Home
They all sat by the hearth of their sweet little home, warming themselves from the last remnants of what had been a long winter. Theirs was not a grand house, no chandelier hung from the rugged roof, nor any famous painting on the tattered walls. To the unknowing eye, it would seem quite plain and barren indeed. Yet should you ask one of Mr. and Mrs. Chester’s eight children: each and every one would tell you a great many tales of what an enchanting place it was. Often leaving the recipient of their wild tales wondering if they were sane at all!
Mrs. Chester was bustling around the kitchen, laying out the supper for the children; a simple selection of their favorite, rice porridge. But as she turned around, ready to call on them to eat, she gave a startled gasp upon finding the grinning Mr. Chester, already promptly seated behind her at the small dinner table, with most of the children not far behind. It was a hard thing to resist Mrs. Chester’s cooking, and with the tantalizing scents of cinnamon from the porridge and freshly baked bread, it was a wonder they all did not stampede into the humble kitchen.
Each holding one another’s hands, Mr. Chester began to say grace for the food, and for every little angel seated there, and for the hands of his dear wife, who had cooked such a fine meal! She gave him a little reassuring squeeze, hearing the heaviness in his voice. ‘Amen.’ he finally said, ending the prayer, and commencing to heartily devour the meal placed before him. They all talked and laughed as they ate, each child becoming more rowdy, nudging the other for the chance to say their own story or joke. ‘Mother.’ little Sophie called, probably for the tenth time, trying to break through the voices of the boisterous children. ‘Yes dear?’ she answered warmly, shushing the others. ‘Must we really leave here Mother? I don’t want to go—’ her quivering voice trailed off, as fresh tears gathered in her almond-shaped little eyes.
Mrs. Chester held back tears of her own, and gave them a beautiful smile, as she saw the gloom creep upon all their little faces. ‘Yes my dear ones, we must go. Only, do not be sad, we are going to a better home, in a far away land, where each of you will have your very own room, and a space to play, and have new adventures!’ she finished cheerfully. This seemed to calm them down for the moment, for soon they were laughing and rambling on of other things. Now, it was Mr. Chester’s turn to give his wife a reassuring squeeze, as they both felt their own regret at having to leave their sweet little home behind as well.