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11/16/25
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Mod
Mod
Just finished my story, it’s called: “Sweet Tea In The Summer.”It was inspired by the song “Seven” by Taylor Swift.
(Trigger Warning: It contains depictions of child abuse)
My bare feet squelch in the freshly rained on mud of the creek as I crawl on my knees, hidden by the weeds growing wild and free. I spy the tall and old house sitting on the other side of the creek, my eyes wide and my heart still as I watch the shadows of a man and a small child. The man is yelling. He’s always yelling. So loud that even I can hear him from my home in the clouds above Pensilvania.The door to the house opens with a long creak and the boy falls face first onto the ground. The man slams the door to the house, locking the boy out.
I watch him as he slowly stands, wiping away the tears glistening in his eyes and gently touching the dark bruise blooming under his left eye.
I wait until the man is deep into the house before standing and waving to the boy.
He smiles and runs through the thicket, his eyes on me as his shoeless feet splash into the creek and he makes it to my side of the bank.
“Hey,” I whisper conspiratorially, “I think your house is haunted.”
He laughs, a sweet sound that seems to make his light coffee colored skin glow.
“Says the girl who lives in the clouds.” He nudges me with his shoulder before lacing our small hands together as we race down the marsh, the creek growing in size and depth the closer we get to our tree.
We halt at the base of the large willow, he immediately climbs onto the swing while I make my way to the longest branch on the tree, the one that overlooks the yawning creek that feels more like a river from here. He begins to swing back and forth, a bright smile on his face.
I watch his let go of the rope swing and crash into the surface of the water. His small head pops up and he waves to me.
I laugh, crawling to the edge of the branch, the dried mud on my feet and knees flecking off as I move.
“Jump!” He tells me, but I just shake my head. I’ve never been brave enough to jump, that was always him.
I watch him swim to the bank, dripping water from his clothes as he climbs up the tree and joins me on the branch.
We kick our feet, our hands joined together.
“Does it hurt?” I ask him, my eyes on his bruise.
“A little.”
“I’m sorry.” I mutter, wishing that I could do more than just say sorry.
“It’s okay… besides, I can barely feel it when I’m with you.” He rests his head on my shoulder, and I close my eyes, savoring the feeling of the warm sun on my skin.
“Come live with me.” I blurt out, almost against my will.
“What?” He questions, a crease between his brows as he sits up.
“Come live with me,” I repeat, “and we can be pirates. Living in the sky. And you won’t have to cry anymore… we’ll move to India forever.”
“I can’t.” He says, starting to climb down the tree. I follow him.
“Why not?” I ask, my feet touching the ground.
“Because, he wouldn’t let me.”
I nod my head, but I don’t understand.
We walk further down the bank, all the way to my grandparents old house.
I lead him inside, passing my sleeping grandparents and expertly avoiding the creaky floorboards.
I stop in the kitchen and grab two glasses of sweet tea, taking them upstairs with us.
I push open my bedroom door, the sunlight spilling in from my window casting my cloud-painted walks in a warm glow.
I plop down onto the floor, passing him a glass of the sticky and sweet drink.
“Sweet tea in the summer.” I mumble, sipping it through the straw.
We sit in comfortable silence, watching the sun sink in the sky.
“You can’t tell anyone.” He says, setting his empty glass on the floor.
“I know.” I sigh, holding his hand in mine.
“I mean it.” There’s something strained in his voice, something like fear.
“Cross my heart,” I smile at him, making a cross over my chest, “won’t tell no other.”
***
It’s been years since those summers spent in trees where we’d drink sweet tea and dream of life in the clouds. Where he would tell me he’d marry me one day.
He always said our love was like a folk song, one that would be passed down through the generations.
…. It’s funny, I can remember every word he ever uttered to me, but I can’t recall his face.
The last time I saw him we were fifteen, my grandparents had died so my aunt was taking me to the city.
He had braids in his hair, and I always thought that they were like intricate patterns that traced his life.
I never saw him again. He waved me off, a glass of sweet tea in his bandaged hand and a promise in his eyes, one that said he’d love me till the day he died.
I smile to myself, hoping that when he think of me, he’s picturing me in the weeds before I learned civility, when I used to scream ferociously.
I remember that promise he made me keep, and I remember that promise I made to myself.
“Cross my heart,” I whisper to myself, “won't tell no other.”
And though I can't recall your face, I still got love for you.
“Passed down like folk songs,” I smile, my mind lost in memories, “our love lasts so long”
Mod
I could honestly write short stories based on Taylor Swift songs all day long
Mod
“Write a story that is in some way inspired by a song.”
It can pretty much be anything!!!