I knew it was you.

When I was younger, I wrote stories. I inhaled books as quick as you could slug down a cup of tea. The words burned hot and I drank them up, absorbing them like a sponge. I've always loved stories, and as I grew up (or, really, I should say, as I'm growing up), I've stopped writing once-upon-a-times and started telling real tales. Photos of your story, your life. As a photographer, I'm not only an artist, but a storyteller, so I love to be able to tell stories with photos that are authentic.

My love for words stems from a childhood filled with books and learning. Every night, we would sit down and my dad would read to us and we'd beg for just another chapter, my sister and I. Sometimes (and these were my favorites), he would tell us a story of his own. We would sit and listen wide-eyed to his tales, or of Danny's braveness in Danny the Champion of the World, or what Eustace did in Voyage of the Dawn Treader, or how silly the Humbug was in The Phantom Tollbooth.

So it's no surprise that I cannot help but write. Sometimes, I'll see an image and it will spark an idea. And in the theme of Valentines, here's a little snippet of prose that I just loved. Rough, unpolished, but I love it, nonetheless.

I knew it was you

a short story by hannah nicole

The day was dark when she awoke, slipping out of bed as moonlight streamed through the window. Penny pulled on a dress and ran a brush through her curly hair, stroking her locks quickly. Careful not to wake the house, she sidled downstairs, sidestepping the stairs that squeaked and opening the kitchen door gently. The tile floor was cold under her bare feet as she pulled an apple pie out of the fridge, cold and smelling sweet and spicy. Grabbing a couple of plates, she reached into the drawers and winced as spoons clattered. She sat with a picnic basket in her hand at the kitchen table, watching the stars slowly fade.

A rat-a-tat sounded at the door, and there he was. Walter James stood at her door, a picnic blanket in his hand and a jug of milk fresh from their cows. His blond hair was tousled and blue eyes smiled in the growing light. Penny grinned and reached for his hand and they walked to the their favorite spot underneath the big oak in McGowan's field. The sky started getting light as they settled down, backs to the tree trunk with plates of cold pie in their hands.

"Best pie ever, Penny." Walter's voice was a smile. He leaned back and crossed his legs, watching the night turn to day. He had missed those days. With his first year of college done, his homecoming had been longed for and readily embraced. The days slipped back into a sense of normalcy and the entire summer laid before him like a good and jolly lifetime.

"You said that last time, Walter." Penny's laugh cut through his thoughts like sun through clouds. She cut another slice for him and leaned back into the tree. They had picked up their Saturday morning ritual of pie and sunset watching without so much as a spoken word between them. It was Saturday, and on Saturday, they ate pie and watched the sunrise, simple as that. Being away at college couldn't ruin tradition, and their ritual was old as the tree by which they sat.

"Only because it's true. Your pies are better each week." He accepted the plate and took a big bite, sighing happily. "Deelicious. You're a fine cook." And a fine woman, he wanted to say, but his tongue twisted and he could only stare at her gently.

Penny had heard it before but it was better coming from Walter. She blushed and smiled gratefully at him. Walter thought he had never seen her look so pretty as she did right then, sun streaming hazy behind her curly red hair and brown eyes warm. "You really think so?" She asked, and it wasn't coy, but just a wish to hear more.

Walter squeezed her hand. "I know so."

And he wasn't talking about the pies, but something deeper, and both of them smiled and right away, their hearts sang the same song. It was as if they had been waiting their whole lives, and finally, they had arrived. Good and jolly and warm. There had been other girls at school, silly, but none like her. There had been other boys in town for her, silly, and none like him.

"I knew it was you." He whispered and his whisper was like a kiss. Penny smiled shyly and kissed him on the cheek. "Silly boy," she said. He put his arm around her shoulder and she nestled beside him and they watched the rest of the morning unfold. Birds called and the fields shone with dew as the sky changed from reds to blue.

They walked home, hand in hand, hearts light and tied together, and with the memory of another sunrise.


Are you a storyteller?

xo
Hannah