She’d been told to treasure her youth, so she did.
She stored it in a paper-lined box, in a warm, dry spot on the top shelf of her bedroom closet, and kept it safe. Pristine.
Now, walking to work, you’d never know she still had it. She’s withered and drained, like 50 years of hardship have beaten her down. Moving slowly, arthritic joints creaking, grimacing in pain.
But she doesn’t complain. Because at the end of the day, she takes the box down from the closet, retrieves her treasure, and slips back into it.
And she’s perfect, and young. Renewed….
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Labels: 100 words, Drabble, Short story, Youth
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