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The Map of Small Disasters
adventure◐ Teen6 contributors · 4 paragraphs deep
The playground was exactly how I remembered it. The old swing set, the same oak tree. Everything frozen. But there, carved into the tree trunk: a date. The day I broke my arm. My heart started racing.
I sat on the swing I used to use. And I remembered: the day I broke my arm, grandma picked me up. She asked so many questions. 'Where exactly did you fall? What do you remember?' I thought she was just being grandma. What if she was—
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A possible continuation
I went home and pulled out my own journal from elementary school. Every injury I'd written down—the dates matched the map perfectly. But there were blank spaces. Future dates. And the writing on those blank pages wasn't mine. It was grandma's handwriting, continuing the story.
IF
Inés Ferro
11 votes · future 1 of 1