Status: Short Story
The Blue Ribbon and the Stop Sign
1/1
He buried the box of berries near the stop sign whose pole was dented. He knew it was the one because of the blue ribbon tied around it. The box had all sorts of berries; she loved all kinds so he couldn’t decide which ones to get her. The ribbon was as blue as a sapphire diamond because that was her favorite color.
The stop sign was dented because of the accident.
As she crossed the street to get to his house, someone in the car didn’t wait for her to get to the other side. The entire scene was a mess of blood and dented metal, and she was almost unrecognizable.
Now, the little memorial he had created in her honor was his getaway spot. He came here when he needed to think. He still believed if he never asked her to come to his house, then she wouldn’t be where she was today.
The thought haunted him, and sometimes the memorial was the only thing he had to remind him it wasn’t his fault.
The stop sign was dented because of the accident.
As she crossed the street to get to his house, someone in the car didn’t wait for her to get to the other side. The entire scene was a mess of blood and dented metal, and she was almost unrecognizable.
Now, the little memorial he had created in her honor was his getaway spot. He came here when he needed to think. He still believed if he never asked her to come to his house, then she wouldn’t be where she was today.
The thought haunted him, and sometimes the memorial was the only thing he had to remind him it wasn’t his fault.