Here's a short story of one of my favorite couples. It just came to me but I spent a lot of time working on it, so please review if you like this. By the way, the age of the two main characters is around ten and eleven.
A Cup Of Love
"What is love?"
Startled, I turned my head to look at him but he was staring at the sky. We were at his house in his big backyard, lying comfortably on the green grass at the base of a chestnut tree with our hands behind our heads. From nearby, I heard the laughter of our brothers as they enjoyed a friendly game of soccer. It was a cold Saturday afternoon and the yellow sun was covered by gray clouds.
"Love," I pondered, trying to find a suitable answer, "is like the bestest, most specialest gift that anyone could give you. It's something that makes everyday seem like Christmas and its more precious than anything in the whole wide world. At least that's how I think of it."
"Do you love your parents?"
I thought of my mom who was always there to smile at me whenever I volunteered to help in the kitchen. I thought of my dad who, ever since I could remember, tucked me in at night with a kiss on my forehead, whispering a soft 'good-night' before he left the room.
"Yes," I answered readily, "of course."
"Do you love your brother?"
Memories of all the times my foolishly reckless or, to put it more mildly, boldly enthusiastic sibling had stood up for me flashed vividly through my mind. He had never let me down and he was so much braver than I was. My admiration of him was quite great. "Yes," I said firmly. "I love every member of my family. Very much."
"Even Meeko and her stinking litter box?" he teased, grinning at me.
"Meeko--yes. Litter box--no."
We both giggled but his laughter was slightly forced. He returned his gaze to the clouds. He had taken his hat off and was now running his fingers through his soft hair. Every golden strand gleamed brightly, dazzling my vision. He uttered a sad sigh. They had been occuring in steady intervals during our conversation and I was ashamed for not noticing earlier. He was unhappy. Something had put him down. The usual cheerful light in his sapphire eyes was dim today.
"What's wrong?" I asked worriedly. He needed a friend. Well, he had me. I beamed proudly. I was his best friend.
"Well...," he said hestitantly; he was ashamed, "I had a fight today with my mom. She got really angry and she said she didn't love me anymore."
"Oh, I don't think she meant it," I assured him, patting his shoulder comfortingly.
"I don't know," he said doubtfully. "I asked her why she wouldn't get back together with my dad. I know she still loves him.... Maybe it was my fault. I shouldn't have bothered her. Talking about my dad makes her really angry and she always bites her lip, like she wants to cry. She was really mad this time and I think she meant what she said--maybe I should run away."
His voice was so low and quiet and I was concentrating so deeply on it that the last line crashed harshly on my ears. I started in surprise and protested earnestly, "You can't do that. She'll be worried about yo-"
"She wouldn't care," he interrupted tearfully.
"I'D care. Oh, please don't cry," I said sympathetically, as I saw drops of water appear on his cheeks. He stopped, calming down and sniffling weakly.
"Sorry," he mumbled, wiping furiously at his eyes.
An awkward silence that had never existed between us suddenly came to life. I gazed quietly at his face and he gazed quietly at mine. We were both unwilling to turn away and make the other feel bad so we just stayed like that for a long time.
I observed his eyes, trying to memorize every emotion that was being held in them. They were so...infinite. Deep, blue oceans that I would drown in if I looked too long. But it was pleasant kind of drowning so I kept looking.
At the moment, however, those azure pools were full of pain and I felt my heart break for him. I hated when someone felt bad, especially if it was someone close to me. I wished desperately for the happy, soul-lifting glow to return to his face and felt angry when it didn't. Not angry at him. I would never be angry at him. I was angry at his mother. How could she be so mean to her son?
"You know what I wish?"
I was relieved when he spoke and my body relaxed. "What?"
"I wish I could just go to sleep and when I wake up my family will all be back together again."
"Maybe it will happen one day. Wishes do come true sometimes."
"You think?" he murmured, with a hint of hope. I nodded fervently and he smiled.
I decided to pose a question of my own. "What do YOU think love is?"
"Love's a feeling, I guess," he began, scratching his head thoughtfully, "It's kinda like the feeling you get when you drink hot chocolate in winter. It warms you up and makes you happy."
He paused and added, "And its like if you make a cup of cocoa for somebody, the more marshmallows you give them, the more you love the person."
I grinned. That was the best definition I had ever heard. He became quiet again and the next five minutes were spent it without words until--
"Hmmm?" I murmured, shivering as the wind blew its icy breath on me.
"Are you cold? Let's go in the house."
I agreed and soon, we were sitting at the kitchen table, talking about everything and nothing. He seemed distracted but I didn't care because he was smiling and to me, that was all that mattered.
"Would you close your eyes?" he said secretively. "Just for a little while? No questions asked?"
I dutifully obeyed and occupied myself by trying to count to a billion. I could hear him rustling around, opening cupboards and closing them.
"You can look now!" he announced with an air of triumph.
My eyelids fluttered open and I glanced around eagerly. My gaze reached the table in front of me. I gasped with delight for lo and behold, there was a big mug of rich and creamy hot chocolate. The steam wafted straight from the cup and lazily up into the air and its delicious scent rested pleasantly upon my nose. But the question remained--was it for me? True, I was the only one there but I didn't dare to hope.
"Wait," he said suddenly, "I forgot something."
I watched curiously as he went to the cupboard. He returned with something behind his back. Bringing his hands to the front, they revealed a jar full of white, fluffy marshmallows...
...and without hesitation, TK dumped its entire contents into my drink. He proceeded to push the mug gently toward me and with an irresistable, shy grin, he offered me those famous three little words.
"Bon appetit, Kari."
Well, what do you think? Good? Bad? Review, people, review!