wb :

"I feel sad, write a story to cheer me up!"

I looked over the tops of the stacks of books at her pout, almost comical in its childishness. Time didn't leave its trails on her; her eyes twinkled as tender as the day we met. Mine were perhaps a little duller now, but she thought nothing of it. I shifted my gaze back to the books, glanced across the gilded letters on the worn leather spines.

"Well, there are many stories here that are nice to read..."

"No! I want you to write one!"

"Surely you haven't read them all?"

"I haven't! But it doesn't matter, and my name's not Shirley!"

I chuckled and shook my head, and the beginnings of a smile crept into the corners of her lips. It took hold soon enough, and she couldn't bear to hide her glee.

"So, are you going to write one? Mmmmm?"

How could I refuse? But then, I thought, she ought to work a little herself.

"Come over, why don't we write a story together?"

It must have been her plan all along. With a grin from ear to ear now, she lightly stepped over, drew up a chair, and sat down beside me.

"Alright, where do we start?"

A story is a strange thing, fragile as a fledgling, beautiful as it buds, grotesque as it grows, silent in its suffering, and divine in its death. I wanted the story to be hers, as much as one might "have" a story, anyway.

"Well... we need to start with the sad parts, I think."

"Why can't we start with the happy parts? Hey, this is supposed to cheer me up, you know?"

"Yes, but everyone knows what the happy parts feel like, mmm? It's the sad parts that are different for everyone."

"Can't I have just happy parts, anyway?"

"Well... if you don't know what sadness is, how can you feel really happy, instead of just... pleasure?"

While she was mulling that over, I pulled up a piece of paper and two pencils, and drew a little dot in the center.

"That's our beginning."

With a few flourishes, I drew a few spokes from the spot.

"And that's where our sad parts are going to be."

"Shouldn't we have a line instead? Like, a... time... line?"

"Memories don't work like that, you know. They don't go in a straight line. They obey their own laws... and since you're making the memories, you get to decide what happens to them."

She took the sheet of paper from me, squinted melodramatically at my crude drawing, then turned the sheet to the other side. She drew another point in the center, but instead of spokes, she drew a two-armed spiral coming out from it.

"I think I want these memories to... to circle out from the... back into the beginning."

She held the pencil up, and, staring into the air, absentmindedly touched it to her nose. Then she looked down again, and put a little cross on the arm on the right.

"That's where the sad parts are going to start."

Her forehead scrunched for half a minute or so before she turned to me again.

"What sort of sad parts do you usually put into stories?"

I sighed. It wasn't quite easy to describe.

"Uh, as I said, the sad parts are different for everyone..."

She rolled her eyes and pouted again, but turned back to the sheet of paper, still pensive.

"I think that I'll put in... loss."

"What sort of loss?"

"I don't know! Mmm... loss of... you said that time doesn't matter when we're writing it, right?"

"That's... right?"

"Alright then. I'll put in a loss of the future."

I raised my eyebrows at the thought. She stared at me and sighed, as though I were a silly skunk.

"You know, when people make decisions, that's it. That's a loss of all the other futures that might have happened. And you know what's worst? It's that you don't know what you've lost, and you never will. And you'll always wonder."

I paused in thought, my hands almost-unconsciously finding each other, and my gaze fell to my lap. She soon went back to smiling and sketching on the sheet, the scratching of the pencil soothing the strands of my senses. At length, I looked up with a little worry in my eyes.

"How could anyone be happy like that?"

She laughed at me (and she said, said she) with a smile like the rose in June.

"How could you ever feel really happy, knowing that you would be happier or sadder in the future? Mmmm? When you don't know what will happen, then you're free to enjoy whatever you have as much as you want to."

It was my turn to smile. I knew then that she would be a great writer of stories.

"Well, I think I can leave the rest up to you now."

She looked up and smiled at me, and those eyes!- as tender as the day I lost her mother. I rose and stretched a little, and went to get myself a drink. After all, stories don't just have a beginning- you have to watch them as they grow up.

-~-

Written for a writing prompt on Reddit:
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3u2e9u/wpi_feel_sad_write_a_story_to_cheer_me_up/cxbaj8e