Attic: A Short Story

I'm in the attic. I love the thick layers of dust that cover the books. I love the old smell of antiques. I love the creaky sounds the floorboards make as I creep on forward.

It's exciting, anxiously looking for ghosts, but also scary. It is eerie and I can feel goosebumps marching down my arms, but I don't run down. Then I spot something on the ground. I kneel down and pull out a large book from under a large, faded sheet. It's a photo album.

I blow on the book and cough as a cloud attacks my eyes.

They're my baby pictures. But I've never seen them before! I see my sister and I, giggling and tightly gripping onto ice-cream cones. My father and mother are carrying us on their shoulders.

I laugh at our fashion; I laugh at our funny faces.

I admire my mother's elegant, young beauty; I giggle at my father's teen-like, skinny figure.

I continue to sit like that for the next two hours.

I flip the page, stare, smile, and remember. Then I flip the page again.

Then suddenly, the pictures are gone. Our memories have stopped. The pictures have stopped. The tears that I kept hidden are suddenly rushing as I dash down the stairs and into the kitchen. As expected, my mother and father are there.

"Why are you crying?" my mother asks, worried. My sister comes in, too, confused.

I take the time to look at them.

They're so different now. They look so old. Wrinkles are covering my mother's face; her 80s fashion, the bold lipstick, and the strange hairdo are nowhere to be seen. Grey hairs are covering my father's head; his army uniform, casual jeans and plaid shirt, and skinny bones are nowhere to be seen. My sister is no longer a baby. She's tall and grown. She's no longer that bald, cute, giggling baby.

"Do...do we have any more photos?" I ask finally, breaking the long silence that has fallen upon us.

My mother looks taken back for a moment, but then she realizes what I'm talking about. "Oh, no dear, we don't. We don't have our old camera, anymore. We use the digital cameras now."

My father speaks second, "plus, you guys hate it when I take photos! Covering your faces, claiming you aren't wearing make-up and

whatnot."

"What can we take photos of, anyways?" my sister says, shrugging.

I feel my heart sinking. Everyone and everything has changed so much. I know that people say today is a present, but sometimes I wish we could go back in time...at least just for a while.

My mother notices what I'm going through and wraps her arms around me. "We can always still make memories. It's not too late."

She's right. I still can. After all, I'm still just a teen.

But in the back of my head, I'm sobbing, thinking about the days when it's going to be too late.