Love among siblings

If I shut my eyes I still see their white dresses.
I can still smell the the freshly baked cakes, the coffee and the lilacs in bloom.
I was only twelve and they were older.

When I close my ears I hear them poking fun at me.

My knuckles tightened around the handle of the shovel.
I gritted my teeth and swallowed my pride.

Once, twice …

It’s long ago, and I’m the only one who knows what’s hidden underneath.

I sip my coffee as I start to write:

“Once there was a little boy with three big sisters … “

I didn’t think I would come up with anything this week until I started to think about all the empty chairs and filled them with people now absent. I hope the story is possible to understand, there are a few blanks to fill in. I hope to be able to read as many as possible this week also but it can take a few days before I get through.

Rochelle selects a picture each week and also set the example, we follow and tries to find our own story.



March 28, 2018

47 responses to “Love among siblings

  1. I have a very similar picture – white iron chairs and table in a natural setting – that resonated with me so that I had my brother take on my behalf. I realised much later that it represented my dead family – the empty chairs around the table. Not long after, the brother who took the photo joined the rest of the family. We all kill each other in one way or another – or at least we think we do.

  2. Seems that empty chairs have brought out the dark side in quite a few Fictioneers. He really didn’t get on with his siblings, did he?

  3. Dear Björn,

    I sit here with mouth agape. It boggles my mind that the twelve-year-old got away with murdering his three sisters.(If I’m reading it right). And now he calmly sits at the table and writes. There’s a lot more story here. Well done.

    Shalom,

    Rochelle

  4. The sisters were just doing what sisters do, surely? It’s the narrator I’d be worried about. But I too think this is just wishful thinking and he is now sitting somewhere with all his sisters and their children – not a single knuckle tightened around a shovel, just a cake fork. At least I hope so.

  5. Oh dear, and those three sisters teased a little too much for their own good, I feel. I would love to read the rest of his story. Well done.

  6. Oh dear. The story started so sweetly, then turned unexpectedly dark. It particularly struck a chord with me, because I’m an older sister who sometimes poked fun at my little brother–youngest of five, with four older sisters. Fortunately, we’ve all made amends as adults. 🙂 Excellent turn of the story!

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