Just a Walk

Alright kids...this is another writing prompt from my friend Seng. When you are done here, please take some time and check out his thoughts - www.sengseri.com

It's nice to have another writing friend challenging me to get words out onto the very scary, blank page!


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Bring someone back from the dead. Write about it.


I was just standing at your gravesite one Sunday afternoon. The sounds of Chicago interstate traffic whizzing by hums in the background as I bend down to brush off the leaves and grass clippings that have accumulated over the past year. Hesitation comes over me as I survey the ground below and then sit with my legs crossed. The trees still have some leaves clutching to their branches in brilliant, fall colors. I close my eyes for a moment meditating in my own thoughts trying to work up what it is I want to say this visit. The flask in the pocket of my zip-up, hooded sweatshirt thumps my hip as adjust my position. I had almost forgotten it was there. Reaching for it, I hear a rustling behind me. Quickly turning my head around as I feel the air changing around me but no one is there. As the new warmth begins to envelope me, I try to shrug off my senses and take a sip of the bourbon. It burns going down my throat.

“You want some?” I ask you offering it out to your nameplate with half of a smirk.

“I would if I could…”

Your voice startles me nearly out of my skin as I quickly try to jump off the ground but stumble down on to my knees. It’s you. It’s really you.

“Uh...hi?” I’ve dreamed my whole life of a moment like this and that’s the first thing that comes out!?

“I was wondering if you would be able to see me,” you say as a warm smile drifts across your mouth.

“But…um…”

“Look, kid, we don’t have time. Let’s take a trip.” You reach down to help me off the ground. My hand actually clasps yours. I stare down at them holding each other in awe before looking up at you. I can feel my eyes ready to pop out of my face as I hold your gaze while awkwardly coming to my feet.

Suddenly, we are strolling the streets of downtown Chicago. No flying like in the movies. We are just there. You are telling me random tidbits of your life. A few times, we stop so you can stare up at new highrises like the ridiculous Trump Hotel, the river, me. You study me a lot almost nearly as much as I study you.

“I see your mom in you,” you finally say.

“I see my mom in you, too!” I reply in an excited whisper and then quickly look around to see if anyone notices I'm talking to myself. You chuckle and we continue walking again. Strangely, there really is not that much conversation between us. We just are in the other’s company. We stop outside the ABC Studios and you look on for a few minutes. Your eyes make slow scans up and down the building and the sidewalks outside of it. Finally, you step up and place your hand on the wall for a few moments before turning to lead us back in the direction that we came.

Before I know it, we are back at your grave. We stop and turn to each other. You reach out your hand and place it on my cheek before pulling my forehead to your lips.

And, then, you are gone. I’m standing there without daring to let my eyes leave the space you were once just standing. I couldn’t say how much time passed before I blink and come back to acknowledging it really is just me again. The metal of the flask feels warm in my hand from being in pocket as I raise it to my lips, close my eyes, and take a long pull. I then hold it out and pour a shot’s worth into the grass in front of your name plate.

“Cheers, Grandpa Frank.”

I turn, pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, and head back to my car.

"La Valse D'Amelie" - Yann Tierson