Woman's Best Friend

My first short story on Movellas! I wrote this recently as part of my homework for university, in which the aim was to use the bare bone structure of The Story of an Hour by Kate Chopin to write our own short story.


1. Woman's Best Friend

“He won’t wake up grandma… he won’t wake up!”


The small boy ran into the very humid living room to cry the news to his grandmother, who was sitting comfortably in her favourite armchair. Being very old in her age, she couldn’t hear what he shouted from the kitchen. She sat herself up with a struggle and asked, “What’s wrong poppet?”


“It’s Monty, grandma,” he said breathlessly, “He won’t wake up. I kept on poking him, but he won’t move!”


The grandmother stayed still for a while, reminiscing in her fragmented thoughts while her hands were stroking the soft arms of her chair. Her frail eyes started to glisten slightly…


“Is he ok, grandma?” asked her dear grandson innocently.


“He’s ok,” she replied, “He’s just in a very deep sleep. He’s very old now, so it takes a while for him to wake up.”


She looked convincingly as possible to reassure him. Just as he was about to speak, she said, “Look, I could really so with some milk. Would you mind getting some from the shop for me please?”


“Ok, I will,” he replied and he took some change from her unsteady hand.


The grandmother waited until he was out of the house; a waterfall emerged from her grey eyes. Tears of pining rolled down her wrinkled face and her flimsy hands were shaking as she continued to rub them on the chair.


When her hands reached the end of the old arms, she moaned in pain as she pulled herself forwards. She then looked down at the vacant space next to her left foot which felt colder despite the fact that she was wearing warm slippers.


She sobbed chokingly which weakened her senses. Exhaustion started to overcome her. She couldn’t get herself up to see her companion lying forever asleep in the cold kitchen. She was being immersed into the safe confinement of her elderly scented armchair.


The grandmother’s weary eyes were sore and her cheeks were stinging slightly from her drying tears. She closed her eyes, hoping to ease the pain and she was starting to feel relaxed now; her hands slowly ceased their shaking.


A beautiful smile appeared on the old grandmother’s wrinkled face as a memory emerged; a memory that she could never forget.


“Exactly fifteen years ago,” she whispered to herself.


She opened her eyes and looked at her favourite photo next to her on a small antique table; an adorable photo of her best friend when he was only ten weeks old. He had a beautiful golden brown coat and was so small. His complexion was one of curiosity and his eyes were like two little black coals, which used to sparkle frantically, full of life. This was Monty.


The old woman reminisced over all of her memories and concluded what a good life Monty had; a good life that she had with him. But now what was she to do?


She felt lonely again once more like she was seventeen years ago when her dearest had fallen ill and departed from her life. She effortlessly closed her eyes at this realisation and further sank into her heavenly chair.


As she was breathing slowly, she could faintly hear a familiar sound- a sound which she loved and sometimes found annoying. The noise was gradually getting louder but she struggled in vain to react to it.


As the grandmother felt herself being immersed further and further into the chair, she could feel something warm; it was next to her left foot.


She wanted to pull herself up, but her hands wouldn’t move as she wanted them to. She couldn’t even open her eyes.


She couldn’t see him for one last time.


“Grandma! Grandma! Look, Monty’s awake! ... Grandma? Are you sleeping?”



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