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Passing the Sword
"Grand-dad?"
He sits in front of me.
Holding a sword.
A sword that blade has been broken in half.
Sliced and cracked as if it was made of paper.
Rather then steel or metel, whatever blades are made of (that is).
He looks up at me, sad somber old man blue eyes.
I am holding a sword, brand new, sleek and shining.
The blade reflecting my reflection back at me.
Reflection my confusion and my fear.
My grandfather taps his sword against mine.
It's when I noitce the edges of where the blade's broken half had at one time met.
There was tape, ripped and tattered tape surrounding it.
Like a binding, trying to holding the sword together.
He taps the swinging broken piece of a blade against mine.
"I can't do it anymore."
And he drops the sword.
And he's gone.
And I'm alone again.
"Grand-dad, wait don't go?!"
Tear well up in my eyes and I--
--Am being shaken awake, I sit up to hear my mother's screams from the other side of the house.
I get up out of bed and am standing in the living room.
My friend stands behind me.
My mother leans in the doorway, tears in her eyes.
"He gone Annie-- He's dead!"
"Who?" I ask, tears running down my face.
She shakes her head over and over again.
"Grand-dad--" she says to me, "Grand-dad is dead."
I back away from my mother.
Falling into my friends arms.
He passed the sword to me.
He gave up on life.
He told me that he couldn't do it anymore.
But what did he leave me in his wake?
What was the sword suppose to mean?
The passing of a fight.
What fight?
Am I suppose to win.
What did this dream mean.
And why did he leave me with hanging over my chest.
It's been three years and I still remember every second.
Every moment as vividly as the day it happened.
And I still don't understand it.
His sword being broken.
While mine was whole.
His being held together, but he could to it anymore.
Tears come to my eyes as I think of my grand-dad.
Father to me when mine couldn't be.
Best friend when I didn't have any.
He was my favorite family member.
He died cause he gave up.
He died out of heartache, missing his wife, my grandmother.
I can't hold it against him for leaving.
But I do, cause I don't understand.
He left cause he couldn't do it anymore.
But what did that have to do with him passing the sword?
Written for the "Dreams" Competition.
He sits in front of me.
Holding a sword.
A sword that blade has been broken in half.
Sliced and cracked as if it was made of paper.
Rather then steel or metel, whatever blades are made of (that is).
He looks up at me, sad somber old man blue eyes.
I am holding a sword, brand new, sleek and shining.
The blade reflecting my reflection back at me.
Reflection my confusion and my fear.
My grandfather taps his sword against mine.
It's when I noitce the edges of where the blade's broken half had at one time met.
There was tape, ripped and tattered tape surrounding it.
Like a binding, trying to holding the sword together.
He taps the swinging broken piece of a blade against mine.
"I can't do it anymore."
And he drops the sword.
And he's gone.
And I'm alone again.
"Grand-dad, wait don't go?!"
Tear well up in my eyes and I--
--Am being shaken awake, I sit up to hear my mother's screams from the other side of the house.
I get up out of bed and am standing in the living room.
My friend stands behind me.
My mother leans in the doorway, tears in her eyes.
"He gone Annie-- He's dead!"
"Who?" I ask, tears running down my face.
She shakes her head over and over again.
"Grand-dad--" she says to me, "Grand-dad is dead."
I back away from my mother.
Falling into my friends arms.
He passed the sword to me.
He gave up on life.
He told me that he couldn't do it anymore.
But what did he leave me in his wake?
What was the sword suppose to mean?
The passing of a fight.
What fight?
Am I suppose to win.
What did this dream mean.
And why did he leave me with hanging over my chest.
It's been three years and I still remember every second.
Every moment as vividly as the day it happened.
And I still don't understand it.
His sword being broken.
While mine was whole.
His being held together, but he could to it anymore.
Tears come to my eyes as I think of my grand-dad.
Father to me when mine couldn't be.
Best friend when I didn't have any.
He was my favorite family member.
He died cause he gave up.
He died out of heartache, missing his wife, my grandmother.
I can't hold it against him for leaving.
But I do, cause I don't understand.
He left cause he couldn't do it anymore.
But what did that have to do with him passing the sword?
Written for the "Dreams" Competition.
Published 2nd Jan 2014
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