Thursday, October 11, 2012


I thought I'd share this little short story I wrote a few years ago, appropriate this time of year...

by Larry Underwood

     Her earliest memory was of being lifted, held, and embraced. A sense of acceptance overcame her. This was, of course, after being separated from the cord through which food and sustenance and life itself flowed. Yes, this was her earliest memory, followed by the sensation of being laid in a warm area, surrounded by soft coverings.
     Somewhere within her consciousness the idea of individualism first took seed. “Who and what am I,” she wondered, “and how will I know when I am complete?”
     She felt herself being lifted again, and carried by firm hands. She felt a sense of purpose in this task, as if she were being carried to meet her destiny.
     The pain was sharp with the first incision, but soon dulled to a steady throb of contentment. Her destiny was being carved before her. An inner weight was being lifted, scraped, and dragged from her being as she felt herself changing.
     The cool air flowed across her innards like a soothing salve. She felt the joy of refinement as each successive incision brought her features a bit closer to the surface. She felt different, new, and fresh - outwardly as well as inwardly. She somehow knew the transformation was complete, and she wished for the world to gaze upon her new self. Her inner light illuminated the darkness as the candle was placed within her shell. She felt herself beaming as she was lifted and carried into the cool night air, and for the first time she felt a sense of purpose. Grinning into the night, she beckoned for the world to look at her.

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