The old man, his kind smiling face wrinkled and weathered by the sun, looked down at his two grandchildren, whose sweet adorable faces stared expectantly at him. The twins, Elizabeth and Thomas, had recently turned five, and were the spitting image of his own children, with their untameable curls, rosy cheeks and baby-blue eyes. The three had been trapped inside for the past week, howling winds and icy air keeping them captive, and so they had retreated to the nursery, the old room filled with battered toys and shelves of books. Currently they sat around the fireplace, soaking up as much heat as possible from the crackling fire.
“Another one? But I’ve already read you four books - and that’s only counting today!” His tone was playful, but he really wasn’t sure if he was actually up to reading another story - at the age of eighty-four this constant activity was wearing down his voice.
“Please? We want to hear about the tin soldier!” They repeated, this time in unison.
“This is to be the last one, you hear?” He had resigned himself to his fate by now, really there was no use putting up a fight. He was too soft – one look from them and he would melt like butter.
Thomas excitably scrambled out of his sitting position and grabbed the requested book off the shelf, handing it to the old man with a smug smile on his face.
“Okay here we go. The Steadfast Tin Soldier. THERE were once five and twenty tin soldiers, all brothers…”
“Were the really made of tin, grandpa?” Elizabeth, the inquisitive one of the two, cut in.
“Yes they were. Now do you want me to read the story or not? Where were we… ah yes, all brothers, for they were the offspring of the same old tin spoon. Each man shouldered his gun, kept his eyes well to the front, and wore the smartest red and blue uniform imaginable…”
“Grandpa, something smells funny!” Elizabeth cut in, once again.
“Shhh Elizabeth, what did I sa…” The old man stopped abruptly as a small flickering
flame caught his glance. He watched, transfixed with horror, as the small flame trickled down the cover of one of the many books and gently licked at its yellowing pages.Suddenly something in the old man snapped. He leaped to his feet, his old, frail body once again alive with energy, only to bend back down at look his two precious grandchildren in the eyes.
“Listen to what I say, for I will only say it once. I need you to run outside, I need you to run like the wind. Whatever you do, you must not look back, you must not stop and you most certainly must not run back.” These words were spoken slowly, each word chosen carefully and filled with most utter importance and urgency, as only Grandpa had the power to do.
At this the children did not hesitate. They frantically scrambled to their feet, stumbling out of the room. It seemed that even at their young age they could understand the uttermost urgency of their situation. Or perhaps not, perhaps it was only chance that they chose to listen, but whatever it was, they did. Only Elizabeth, young, sweet innocent Elizabeth, paused and turned at the doorway.
Staring back at her hero, at the flames reflected in his eyes, five words escaped her lips. “But what about you Grandpa?”
“I’m sorry” was all he could answer.
It seemed she understood, for with that she turned and ran, blindly, stumbling, scattering various objects as she formed a path out of her childhood home. Every step taking her further away from the man she worshiped, and every step allowing more and more tears to stream down her face.
Silently, the cause of those tears watched her go, completely oblivious to the fiery furnace of flames that raged behind him, destroying the thousands of memories contained within a room which was once a nursery.
That was the last I ever saw my grandfather, the very last memory I have of him. All I have to show for it is two words, two words that still ring endlessly in my mind. “I’m sorry.”
- THE END -
