Anya stopped midway and the scene before her brought a flood of memories.
“Mom, are you tired” asked a her 7 year old daughter Isabella.
“No Bella, momma is thinking” she replied.
“Maybe we should sit here for sometime?” she asked little Bella and she nodded.
The barn had not changed at all thought, Anya. There was the lush greenery in front of her and the barn except for it's peeling red paint, stood like 15 years had not passed by at all.
“Would Brenden be there” she wondered.
She could imagine how he would look now. The 25-year-old Brenden in Anya’s memory was a demi-god. He was a little shorter compared to this rather tall family, walked as if he was carrying an invisible sack in his back and wore a baseball hat.
He had inherited his grandmother’s piercing green eyes that clashed with his bronze skin beautifully and that smile - His smile could make the scrotching sun blush and Anya too.
She did not remember the precise moment she started falling for him and how he read her thoughts like they were written across her face. Anya was 19 when she had visited her grandparent's house for the first time. Dressed in midnight blue blouse and black jeans she was a walking with her notepad and camera in hand and her backpack stuffed with watercolour tubes.
“So you must be the pretty girl the old man keeps telling us daily” was Brenden’s first conversation with her.
“Maybe,” said Anya trying not to be enchanted by his smile.
“What are these things for ?” he asked pointing at her half-open bag. “I want to paint this landscape, it's for my college project” she replied. “Ah, do whatever ever and if you want anything, I am here”, he winked.
She would come everyday to see him. He was interested in all the stories from the city she told him and her love for everything. He had never met someone so kind and full of spark.
He would hold her hand and take her to see the sunset at the lake and waited till she finished painting it.
She would lose sleep over the slight brushes of his strong hands over her.
And then it happened.
It's was a rainy November evening .
They had returned from the market with baskets full of fresh trout and produce. Grandpa had promised her a campfire that day. They ran into the barn for shelter. Ananya was holding her basket close and drenched to her skin. He wriggled his red shirt off all water and proceeded to take the basket from her. Their eyes met and Anya felt the heat of his gaze burning through her white dress. Without a word, he reached her and let his hands move slightly over her lips. The next moment they were kissing fiercely. His hands reached her neck, her hips and he started moving down from her lips and down.
They would meet here the coming months for passionate moments and before they knew they were heady in love. “Anya, do you know why I love you?” he asked her one day. “ Because I love you more and you have no choice” She replied. “ No, you are very special and a pure soul. That's why” he would reply and Anya would hug him tighter.
And one day he disappeared and neither grandpa not anyone in the village could say where he went. Anya was shattered and returned home only to come back to the barn every year to know if Breden changed his mind and was waiting for her.
“ Mom, a duck”, exclaimed Bella and Anya was rudely returned to the present.
Maybe I should get going, she though and proceeded to get up.
“Mom, tell me a story, then will leave ” pleaded Isabella. “ Alright, do you know the story of the princess and the swan”? Anya asked her. “ No, mom is this a story where the swan becomes a princess?” Isabella jumped in. Anya laughed. “ No it's, a story of a swan who fell in love with princess Isabella” she replied. Bella grinned.
It began to dawn by the time princess Isabella ordered all swan to live with her in the palace with the magical swan lake. “ Let's get going, Bella, papa will be waiting” she said.
Lucky for them, her husband was already on the way and he spotted the mom and daughter duo.
“ Papaaa!!”, ran Bella with open arms at her dad. Anya looked at her husband. “Any luck finding him?”. He gave a weird smile. “No, nobody knows him but don't worry I have told a few people here, we might get some answers”. She gave him a hug and proceeded to get into the jeep.
Isabella tugged at his shirt. He took her few steps away from Anya’s earshot.
“So Bella, did your mom tell you a story?”
Isabella nodded. “ Was papa there in the story this time?”, Isabella said no.
“Papa, when will momma be okay?” she asked worriedly.
“Bella, you know what happened last year, the accident everything right..lets give momma sometime to recover okay”?
“But papa what if she never remembers you?”, asked Bella.
“ Your mom has always loved you and me more, she is very special, I will be okay ” he replied.
Brenden smiled at his little family and prayed God to bring his Anya back.
If it has not been for that fateful journey, he thought to himself, took Bella by her hands and started walking towards the jeep...
About the Creator
Rashmi G
Fascinated by topics on mind, astronomy and self-growth
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
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Verdict In a Minute
This article serves as an index for my series of courtroom drama stories. I started out with the first story for the Just A Minute challenge and realized, prompted by Hannah Moore, that it could be told from different angles and perspectives of various characters.
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