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The date was March 20th, year unknown. How can I know the month and day but not the year you ask? It’s simple. But before you can understand what I know, you must first understand what I didn’t know. I never was one for magic, nor miracles. I did not believe in fairy tales with happy endings. I did not know more than a handful of people. And I didn’t know why, but it seemed like I was living my life over and over again. One of the things I didn’t understand was there where times when I spent what seemed like eternity in darkness. As much as it seemed normal, I yearned to know more. One day, and I can’t even explain how, I had a realization. Answers started coming to me as if someone was narrating them to me. I now knew what a miracle felt like. I understood you did not need a happy ending in order to have a fairy tale. I knew the people I knew were children. And I now know why my life seemed to be short lived. I understood that I was a book. A book about spring. It’s always March 20th.
© 2011 Peter Cressman
This above story was written by Peter Cressman. It is an alternative to the interpretation and story written by B.C. Young. Vote for your favorite interpretation in this poll: Weekly Poll V - Flash Fiction