I'm not the most creative of people I confess, but I actually kinda liked this one! Anyway, here's my story. I hope you like it!
UNTITLED
By Allen R. Alderman
It was with some trepidation and a very real sense of sadness that I went to visit the White Rabbit. As a child I had visited with him almost daily, but it had been a while now since my last visit. I was not looking forward to this one. His hole seemed much smaller these days and not as tidy as it had always seemed years ago. He greeted me warmly and invited me in to visit with him for a spell.
He made us a pot of tea and, as we drank, he reminisced about all of the adventures we had shared together once upon a time, the stories he used to tell me, the laughs and tears that we had shared. I marvelled at his words. Years ago his stories had seemed so full of meaning, deep, rich and philosophical. Today, however, they seemed shallow and superficial, almost contrived.
After what seemed ages, his words droned to an end, and for an uncomfortable eternity we sat in silence, each waiting for the other to come up with a reason to continue the conversation, and both coming up empty handed.
He sighed loudly and sat staring deeply into his now-empty cup. His shoulders were hunched and he seemed so very old.
"This is goodbye, isn't it?" he said finally, hesitancy and dread in his voice, an unshed tear sparkling in his eye.
"Yes, old friend, I'm afraid it is," I said, trying to hide a slight tremble in my voice.
"I knew it would come," he said, "it never lasts for long."
"There will be others," I said, vainly trying to cheer him up, "as long as there are children who look up to the sky with wonder, to the forest with a sense of mystery, there will be others."
"I know," he said, "But that never eases the pain I feel with each goodbye."
For a moment I struggled to find my voice. Then, "I will miss you," I said, no longer trying to hide my quivering voice.
"And I you," he replied.
"Thank you," I whispered.
And with that, I left his hole and I did not bother to look back. If I had, however, I would have seen that with each step I took his hole became more hazy, indistinct, and in the end, was no longer there at all.
And then, somewhere, in another place, a book opened, and that magical sound called the hole back into existence, more real and more vibrant than ever before.
And the story began anew....
