A comment on my recent post gave me an idea. Where do my stories come from?
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I remember where the inspiration for this one came from because it occurred this morning.
In my bedroom I have a display cabinet. It holds some of my treasures. The figure of a pair of dolphins from my daughter’s room when she wanted an undersea world, a bulldog figure that my son treasured. A glass angelfish gifted to my daughter from her grandma, a metallic globe we bought on holiday, a few paperweights, some Jasperware from my collection. Some dragons, pottery figures and metal guarding crystals…
All of these items hold memories but were not very expensive. Their ‘street value’ would make them worthless to any thief but I couldn’t replace them and so they are priceless.
Accidents happen of course, my daughter ‘rolled’ a box full of my grandparents’ Christmas decorations down the stairs when she was three and few survived. It wasn’t her fault; the ornaments were stored in a box that had once held a ball we’d bought for her. She assumed the ball would still be inside.
The cabinet could come loose from the wall and crash to the floor.
If we had a burglary the cabinet wouldn’t hold any interest for a thief, other than the satisfaction of destruction.
Then my mind did what it does and turned everything that much darker. People destroy other people’s property sometimes for spite and sometimes for no good reason.
Ah… that story…
Yes, it’s a little dark, it’s a little scary at how easily the human skeleton can be broken and damaged and it’s frightening how much damage a human can withstand and not die.
It’s also worrying that every injury you sustain throughout your life can bring back memories whenever the weather changes.
My advice? Be careful with that body, you have but one.