She sat at her grandmother’s rosewood desk, the surface scarred by scissors and pens, a patchwork of fables. Her grandfather’s watch ticked softly at her wrist, heavy and cold.
Looking around the rest of the room she wondered what sort of legacy she was leaving her own children. Flat packed furniture filled the rest of the house, gadgets and plastic toys tucked into corners, briefly loved then forgotten.
Her daughter ran into the room.
“Mummy, tell me another story about great-granny!”
She smiled, and began to weave another tale, the legacies she would leave in her words.
Leave a Reply