You know what that means.When I don't know what to blog about, I turn to my fiction journal to share a story with you. Today's story is titled "Citrine." It's a humorous story about how people sometimes misunderstand what I mean when I say something is "interesting."
Enjoy it, and have a Happy Friday tomorrow and a wonderful weekend!
I juggled the small box with my purse and tote bag as I decoded the alarm. “I’m home!”
“Hi mommy!” our blue Quaker said cheerfully from her cage in the den.
“Hi Bubbles, what’s up?”
“Sure, supper’s coming right up as soon as I find out what’s in this box.”
I smiled as I got out a knife to open the small box, it’s edges crumpled from being forcefully shoved in our mailbox. It was so crumpled that the return address sticker was mangled. The mailman obviously didn’t want to get out of the truck and leave this on the porch!
“I wonder what this is. Rick and I didn’t order anything.”
I sliced open the box. Something fell with a thump on the kitchen table. I unfurled the paper wadded up in the box. It was a letter that read:
My apologies for the late delivery of your inheritance from Grandmom. This piece was left to you in her will, but I just found it in a box of things we got out of her house when we sold it. At least some good came from the basement flooding, and best of all, it wasn’t damaged ! Mom knew you loved this ring, and thought it’s symbolic meaning of mental clarity, cheerfulness, and prosperity would be perfect for your creative spirit and sunny disposition. I agree.
You’re a writer, so this is perfect for you.
I expect to see a picture of you wearing this on social media soon, and to see a breakthrough in your writing from it’s power!
“Oh no!” I exclaimed. My mind flashed back twenty seven years to the summer before I started high school, when we went to visit my great aunt and cousins in Georgia.
“What do you think of my new ring, Sherri?” Great Aunt Millie flashed the huge stone in my face.
I repressed a gag. “It’s interesting!”
“It is, isn’t it? I couldn’t resist getting it. It’s my birthstone, and it’s supposed to enhance mental clarity, confidence, and will power.”
Dad laughed as she walked away. “Interesting, eh?”
“Not in a good way!”
He laughed. “Women who love jewelry should never be born in November, eh?”
I picked up the lump of metal and quartz with a trembling hand. The stone glowed a putrid yellow in the late afternoon sunlight pouring through the sliding glass door. “I suppose escaping this fate for fifteen years was the best I could ask for. I’ll have to suck it up and wear it at least once for that picture.” I slid it on my finger. Disappointingly, it was a perfect fit.
“Yuk,” Bubbles said.
The door opened to Rick walking in. “Hey sweetie, I’m home!” He paused, studying the ring. “What’s that?”
“An inheritance from my greataunt that passed away fifteen years ago. My cousin in Georgia found it and sent it to me.”
He looked at the rancid rock on my right hand. “Isn’t citrine supposed to promote creativity? You should wear it when you’re writing. Maybe you’ll finally have a breakthrough and get that bestseller you keep wishing for.”
I frowned at the stone. It was perfect for me.
It looks like I’m stuck with this thing for good.