Foam – Short story

Foam – Short story

So I thought I would post something happy in light of my two previous posts which were a bit depressing. I ended up having a mental breakdown at work today which was embarrassing, but my work colleagues were really supportive and helpful.

I was looking through my short stories I wrote 4 years ago now – time flies! Ive decided I really like this one, it could probably do with some tweaking here and there, but for now I shall post it on my blog. It’s called Foam.

Foam

 The black figures in the white room didn’t understand that the noise coming out of their mouths wasn’t comprehensible. All of the other figures were the same. It was hard to distinguish one figure from the other as they all tried to communicate with me and shine a bright light in my eye so that I would be able to see what they saw. They didn’t understand. I tried telling the figures that I didn’t understand them and that I wanted them to open the window, but the window was never opened. Outside of the window was a world where there were no white rooms and the black figures didn’t shine bright light in your eyes because in the sky there is a bright light that does it for them, the same bright light that shines over the ocean and it’s big waves. But they didn’t understand.

My daughter was holding a starfish, that’s what I remember. It fit perfectly in her little hand with the top point lining up with her middle finger. She said it tickled and that the starfish was giving her lots of kisses on her hand because it loved her. There were no starfish in the white room. She kept the starfish for a while and began to draw. She wouldn’t let me see what she was drawing. So I kissed the top of her quaint little head and told her to take the starfish back to his home or he might die. She turned and ran towards the white foam that the waves left behind on the sand. She once told me that the foam was a gift from the ocean to the sand. I believed her. The ocean must be leaving the foam for the sand to say sorry for being so mean, she told me, the sand is afraid of the big waves, she said. Well are you afraid of the big waves, I asked her. She replied with a vigorous shake of the head. She continued to run, while giggling, towards the white foam. I should have called out. I should have made her wait for the big waves to go away so that she would be safe. But she believed that the ocean was good so I believed it too. She covered herself in the foam. She said it tickled and that the foam was giving her a million kisses all over her body because the ocean loved her. Everything loved her. Even the dark depths of death loved her. Death loved everybody, but especially children who liked  to play in white foam.

The white room reminded me of foam. Maybe death loved me too and that’s why I was in the white room. But perhaps not since I was still here and not with my daughter.

The waves were extremely big that day, I remember, and there was white foam everywhere so she thought the ocean was being really nice and she could play in the water with the big waves. I suggested she go wash off the white foam so we could have lunch. She agreed with that idea. But the ocean decided it was going to hold onto her for a while, so it swept her up while she was washing off the foam. I had called out for her to be careful. I should have gone and gotten her so we could have lunch, I shouldn’t have let the waves take her. But she told me she wasn’t afraid of the big waves and that the ocean was her friend. I believed her.

A black figure entered the room carrying a starfish, it looked similar to the one she was holding before the ocean took her. Except this starfish was dead. It fit because the white room wasn’t really foam, and the starfish wasn’t really alive.

The police wouldn’t let me see her, and they were going to take her away. I told the women about the foam that the ocean was leaving, and that the ocean couldn’t have hurt her so they had no reason to take her away, because she wasn’t hurt. The lady took me to the foam where my daughter lay and she was lying in the foam like a starfish. She had always wanted to be a starfish she had told me. I guess her dreams had come true.

The white room doesn’t have a TV or a nice view so I have to go into the joint room where everyone can watch TV and look at the nice view. Some days the people watch TV and the ocean is shown so I stop watching it and go look out at the view. The view is the same though because it looks out into the ocean. The ocean isn’t friendly to me now. It mocks me with its foam and waves and no one believes me. But soon I could go back home.

Everything still looked the same as it once did, everything was still in its exact place, except the police had come to remove all of her things that once belonged to her. They left the important stuff that they thought I may like to keep though, but they thought it would be too painful if the stuff was kept here. I overheard them talking when they thought I couldn’t hear them.

The picture that she had been drawing was placed on the fridge and was held in place by a starfish magnet. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to look at it, because I wasn’t meant to and it looked unfinished. I could hear the waves crashing outside the window, dumping its white foam into the shore before leaving to go back out to sea. What played in my mind was the image of her lying in the foam pretending to be a starfish.

And that’s what the picture looked like. She had drawn stars all over on the blank piece of paper. But what they looked like to me were dead starfish lying in the ocean’s white foam.

IMG_1498

This is one of my first short stories that I actually finished 🙂

-M

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