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Sunny Days

by Sara Harricharan  
1/08/2008 / Short Stories

Sun in shining through my windowpane. Streams of white and gold play again. Dancing on my lap, across my face, they make smiles bloom on my face.

I laugh out loud.

A little bit of heart to share. A little bit of joy to spare. Makes a friend for everywhere.

I write the verse as neatly as I can in my diary.

Someday, I shall be a famous poet. I will live to enjoy my fame and spend my weekends attending poetry readings, where fans shall travel for miles to acquire my autograph.

I giggle. The picture is so funny. But I want it to be real so badly.

I love to sit in the sunlight.

To feel the rays on my face, on my neck, in my hair.

When I look in a mirror, it makes my hair look light instead of dark. I like it.

I don't get to look in mirrors too often.

Mom doesn't want me to see what the surgery is doing to my face. I don't know anything about nerve damage.

I just want to see my hair.

It feels so soft and silky, it's about waist length at least.

I can't say. I haven't stood up in almost a year since the fire.

Thanks to my nurses and doctor, I am allowed to sit up and travel places in my wheelchair.

Traveling is so much fun. But it makes me tired sometimes. The doctor says that's part of what's wrong with me.

I don't think there's really too much wrong with me, but I can't tell anyone else that.

They think I'm going to die because of all the surgery and medicine.

I won't if I'm not supposed to. Daddy says I shouldn't be afraid of dying if I have to. He believes I'll get well again.

Most of the time.

He once told me that my first breath began with God and that my last one will take me straight to Him.

I think that's beautiful.

Almost poetic.

I'd better write it down. In purple.

Purple ink makes the words stand out so I can find them again later.

Daddy bought me the biggest diary in the world! It's a little heavy, but that's good because it means I don't have to hold it when I'm writing.

There are no lines on the page. Lines confuse me.

The smooth whiteness of a blank page is just begging to be used in any way.

Little shapes decorate my pages, thanks to the lace curtains framing my little window.

This window is my secret meeting place. There I can talk to God and write my poetry.

It's quiet time for both of us.

I write and He reads.

He whispers and I listen.

The sun in fading.

It must be afternoon now. I hope the sun comes back tomorrow. Sunny days are my favorite.

Sara Harricharan is a young Christian woman with a passion for writing for the Lord through faith-filled Science Fiction/Fantasy stories and pure words.

Article Source: WRITERS

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