When she was a child, autumn evenings meant playing out in the cool air and setting sun. The leaves had not yet turned brown and it wasn’t cold enough to need a jacket. She loved those rowdy evenings in the garden with her little brother trailing after her like a lost puppy. Autumn evenings were her favourite time of the year.
As she grew older, autumn evenings began to mean homework and chores and hiding away in her room. Her little brother was still out in the garden, avoiding his own schoolwork but she was never able to switch off like that. Autumn evenings were replaced by the long summer holiday as her favourite time of the year.
Autumn came back around and she was yet another year older. Homework had given way to essays and seminar work and drinking with friends at the cheapest bar in town. She began to think autumn might be her favourite time of the year again, except when she thinks about it, she prefers the bright lights and cold noses of winter.
Older still and autumn evenings are now just another set of evenings where she arrives home from work, tired and fed up and ready to sleep. She does the housework and she cooks her meals and she sits in front of the telly wishing away the week.
Autumn is no longer special, she thinks, not now when all she has is the same shit she deals with every other evening of the year.
There’s a knock on her door. No one usually knocks on her door at this time.
She answers hesitantly but it’s just her little brother. Only, he’s not so little anymore and he’s grinning at her. The sun is setting behind his shoulders and he looks to be glowing in the pinking light. He grabs her keys from her hand and then pulls her out of the door, locking it behind them. He doesn’t answer when she asks where they are going just leads her to the nearby park. He begins to run, bounding around like they used to as kids, tossing little sticks and handfuls of grass at her to make her chase him. She laughs. Loudly, with wild abandon. And then she’s running without a care in the world after her not-so-little brother.
It doesn’t last as long as it used to, they tire much quicker now but when they collapse on the grass they’re still giggling and her brother is trying to tickle her.
Autumn evenings can still be magical it turns out.
Tales written from a prompt in just 10 minutes.
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