Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Forget Me Not: The Story

 Original screenplay by Emily Dean
All Rights Reserved 2011

A long time ago there was a girl with a flower in her hair. She lived with her mother in a house on a hill.

They did everything together and the days were filled with sunshine and laughter.

But one day the flowers did not grow.

“Mother, why do the flowers not grow?” asked the girl.

“Because they have forgotten,” her mother replied, “but I love you.”

“Why do they forget?”

“All things have their own Time and Story,” her mother said.

Soon the trees lost their leaves.

“Mother, why do the trees lose their leaves?” asked the girl.

“Because they have forgotten,” her mother replied, “but I love you.”

“I don’t want them to forget because they leave me.”

“You cannot keep their Time or write their Story, only your own,” said her mother.

Soon the birds left their nests and flew away.

“Mother, why do the birds leave their nests and fly away?” asked the girl.

“Because they have forgotten,” her mother replied, “but I love you.”

“When is my Time and what is my Story?”

“When your Time comes you will know your Story,” said her mother.

As time passed, the warm Sun began to fade and the days grew shorter.

“Mother, the Sun forgotten us.”

Her Mother did not reply but only sat and stared out the window. Time passed and still she did not speak.

Finally, the girl cried out, “Mother, have you forgotten me also?” And then she wept. She wept for her Mother, she wept for the Sun, she wept for the birds, she wept for the leaves, and she wept for the flowers.

And from those tears she wept grew a little fragile Forget Me Not.  And her Mother, seeing the flower, plucked it from the earth and gently placed it in the girl’s hair.

Drying her eyes, the girl said, “I understand Mother. I know you love me and I love you. Though I cannot keep your Time, I am grateful my Time was a part of yours. Though I cannot write your Story, I am grateful to know it in my own. For our Time and our Story are shared.”

And with those words she held her mother’s hand and stayed with her for what was left of their Time together. And the birds returned to the nests they’d left for the winter, the trees and seedlings grew their leaves, and flowers budded on old branches long thought to be dead.

In loving memory of Brian and Suzanne Ridley

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