|Don't Lose Your Dreams (standard:drama, 2924 words)|
|Author: hvysmker||Added: Sep 11 2004||Views/Reads: 2085/1295||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|The importance of dreams in a man's life|
Seven year old Terry sat under his favorite Buckeye tree. It was his favorite place in the whole world. The tree sat at the back of his Grandfather's property in a little town in Iowa. His back to the tree he was reading a book. Terry loved visiting his Grandpa, and spent many a weekend at the old man's home. He only lived a few miles away, but felt more at peace at the old house, one that had raised many of his ancestors over the years. At one time it had been a large farm, but much of the land had been sold off at different times. Now it was just the old house, a barn, and a few outbuildings. The property was secure with a tall wooden fence surrounding the remaining three acres. His, he did consider it as his, massive Buckeye tree sat near the center of an overgrown half acre in back of the property. A railroad spur ran along the outside of the fence and Terry could sometimes hear a switch-engine laboring to pull cars laden with grain, going to faraway climes. The boy had found an old metal breadbox in one of the sheds. He had buried the sturdy steel box amid the roots of the tree, piling dirt over it with an old wooden plank covering to hide it from prying eyes. The box held various valuables, like his books, half a pack of stolen cigarettes and a lighter, and other items of interest to a young boy. It, the box, was hidden from all but a careful search and protected his treasures from the elements. At home he was subject to constant arguments between his parents. His brothers and sisters brought a constant cacophony with bickering and loud noises the norm. He loved the quiet of his Grandpa's house. Getting hungry, the boy closed his book, put it away, and covered the lid of his hiding place with dirt and small twigs. Rising, he went back to the house. He found his Grandpa sitting in an old stuffed easy-chair in the living room. “Grandpa, can I have a sandwich?” Getting no answer, Terry went around to the front of the chair to find the old man sprawled half on, half off the seat. He shook his Grandpa, with no reaction from the old man. “Grandpa, Grandpa, wake up.” He implored the old man, “I want a sandwich, I'm hungry.” Grandpa still lay there, his mouth open and eyes closed. Terry knew something was wrong, but not what. He had never seen death before. All he could think to do was try to get the man to wake up. He even tried to sit him up, standing between the man's sprawled legs and pulling on his shirt. Terry had to jump back as his Grandpa's body fell to the side, knocking body and chair over. Now Terry panicked, running back outside to his tree to think. He sat for a long time, shivering, his mind in a muddle. Eventually he calmed down in the shade of the comforting environment. The boy walked slowly back to the house, hoping everything would be all right when he got back, maybe he had just been imagining things. He did have a good imagination, remembering the old man's favorite saying, “Remember Son, always follow your dreams, whatever else in life, always follow your dreams and you'll come out right in the end.” The old man had made and lost several fortunes doing just that. Peeking into the living room from the kitchen door, Terry found things just as he had left them, chair and old man looking out of place on the wooden floor. He knew how to dial emergency services at 911, and did so from the kitchen phone. He waited until the Sheriff's Department knocked on the Click here to read the rest of this story (251 more lines)
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