Photos and memories, down by the sea.

The marbled marshmallow was a marvelous treat, anytime from the market by the sea. We’d go there on some weekends, just mamma, papa and me. I adore this memory, adore it dearly, I wish you could see what I see; us holding hands, walking the sands, cola, hot dogs, and marbled marshmallows for treats down by the sea.

Those were the days, my carefree ways, just mamma, papa, and me.

Sadly places of heart can go quite dark, warm memories fade from pain that invades from a dreadful day. I remember that red phone box from that moment of such loss, as I screamed into the phone, as my papa lay and moan, clutching his chest, you’d guess the rest, down by the sea, hearts breaking, as we became just mamma and me.

My dear you might say, what of this day, why do I tell you now. But time has grown short, my old memories go naught, as my mind slowly drifts away.

How do we frame what’s left, what remains, of an old man who’s no longer the same.

So search these old photos with me, let me tell you who we see, these people from our shared ancestry.

When I meet my fate, living memories I take, what’s left is pictures and stories I’ve freed.


Hold my hand old man, remember what you can, tell of the days by the sea. Of love and loss, and that old phone box, where you screamed till you fell to your knees.

Remember the hard times, remember the good, stories of memories oft misunderstood. Show me the photos of good times from people lost. Tell me of whom these people were, before time came and absorbed their lives through loss. These stories I’ll cherish of living memories gone, and to my children, your great-grandchildren, I’ll pass them on. Stories of life, and love, strength, and grief. Stories of full lives that passed far too brief. Your memories, sweet memories down by the sea, where you enjoyed marbled marshmallow as a childhood treat.

Goodbye sweet man, as your memories fade. What’s left of your mind wandering away. I’ll stay with you as long as I can, sitting here silently holding your hand. As your stories are gone, and you’ve lost your own name, I’ll sit with you still, till time plays its game. And as each fleeting moment weakens to shallower breath, I’ll whisper to you ‘your memories aren’t gone, they’ll be all I’ll have left.

This is a story written for the March Furious Fiction competition. The story had to follow this criteria:

  • Each story had to include the pictured setting at some point.
  • Each story had to include the following “MAR-” words: MARKET, MARBLE, MARVELLOUS, MARSHMALLOW.
  • Each story’s final sentence had to contain dialogue – i.e. someone speaking.