"Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the internet." Cyrus Farivar

Friday, February 4, 2011


I wrote this four years ago for a short story contest in which the entry had to be less than 1,000 words. Yes, it probably needs editing and revising. Part of me wants to make it shorter, but that will come in time. Without further ado Ribbon.


She giggled, tying the purple ribbon around his wrist. “You can’t take this off until Christmas alright?” Her golden eyes looked at his dark blues as she kissed him briefly on the lips.
“I promise. But, what’s it for?” He inquired, wondering what this odd little item was for. “It’s just a ribbon.”
“It’s not just a ribbon. It’s our thing we can do together. Here, pick a color and tie it on my wrist like yours,” she answered, holding out her arm. Looking through the colors, he carefully chose a golden hue that seemed to make her eyes even brighter. He delicately tied it around her wrist, and then looked at her for further explanation. “We’ll take these off when Christmas comes. As presents to each other,” she giggled.            “Oh, I get it. That’s a wonderful idea,” he smiled, kissing her back lightly. Glancing at his watch, he sighed. “I should get home. But I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”
She nodded in agreement. “Alright, I’ll see you here,” she said, standing with her ribbon and backpack.
“Here, I’ll walk you home. Its getting late and you shouldn’t walk home on your own,” he said, grabbing his things and following her. They continued talking, though most of it was reminiscing of the carefree childhood days. It wasn’t long till they reached her house. Briefly kissing goodbye, they parted their ways; her into her house, and he towards his own home.
             Lying back on his bed, he stared at the ribbon on his wrist. Three weeks till Christmas he thought, smiling as he looked at it. He closed his eyes, and drifted to sleep, not a single sad notion in his head.
             That day seemed to be like many others as two weeks flew by; always going to bed eager to wake up the next day. It wasn’t long till they were on that two week break for the holidays. He held her gloved hand as they walked down the snow laden sidewalk, enjoying the time together. She sighed, and leaned her head against his shoulder.
             “I should head home. My mom wanted me to run some errands for her,” she murmured, hugging him.
             “Want some help? The roads are icy, and it’s dangerous driving,” he offered, turning to face her.
             “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I’ll call you tonight, okay? This shouldn’t take me very long,” she said, kissing him and then heading down half a block to her house. Sighing in defeat, he turned and headed for his house, wishing to have gone with her to help. Compared to his family, her family looked like saints, but they loved him for the gentleman he was towards their daughter; always welcome at the household not matter what. 

             He heard the phone ringing from his room, but didn’t bother to answer, figuring his mother would get it. His sketch book lay open on his desk, as he stretched his cramped arm before continuing. There was a knock at his door, in which his mother entered. “Honey, the phones for you,” she said, handing him the cordless phone.
             “Hello?” He greeted, unsure of who would call him besides his girlfriend. His features visibly paled as he heard what the caller had to say. Several tears escaped his eyes, making their way down his cheeks. Physically shaking, he hung up the phone after bidding farewell, and sat stunned at his desk. His mind just couldn’t believe the words he had just heard.

             “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to honor a girl that was a dedicated student, loved daughter and girlfriend,” the minister started to say. Everything had become a blur since hearing those words over the phone just a week before Christmas. Now, here he stood at her funeral, four days after that day of promise.
             Her mother approached him after the service, hugging him tightly and then handing him an envelope. “I found this in her room, among some papers on her desk. It’s addressed to you,” she sniffled, trying to not cry.
             “Thank you,” he murmured, hugging her again. The rest of the group had left as he stood there, staring at the letter. He couldn’t open it; his body wouldn’t let him open what his mind wanted to read. Staring at the new tombstone, he opened the letter. 

Dear David,
This Christmas is the most important holiday for the both of us. Its not just our final holiday with our family, it’s our first holiday together. The ribbon around your wrist represents our love and commitment to each other. I know I promised that you could take it off when Christmas came, but it’s much like the rings exchanged when one wants to get married. It’s a materialistic way to represent our love. For richer, for poorer; till death do us part. May we always be together.

             David reread the letter several times, tears streaming freely down his face as he did so. It seemed as if she wrote this just for him, before she had slid off the icy road and crashed into that tree. As if it was her last statement of their love. He wiped away the tears where more just flowed to take their place. All that remained of her was his little memento; the last gift he received from her: his ribbon.

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