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The sun was dropping down at the end of the road leaving some last rays of sunshine going through the thick, green, lush leaves and pouring onto the faces of the two old ladies. Sitting down on a bench in the middle of the garden, two women were every bit as old as each other. A beautiful wind blew rustling the leaves on the ground, floating some grey hairs of the ladies like a fluffy white cloud.

Picking out some grey hairs on the head of the lady in yellow, the lady in the blue shirt said, “Sister, here you are!”.

“One, two, three, … I am unable to count it. Too many! We are all old.”

“Yes, sister!” the younger looked wishfully off at the distance, replying.

“Baby! Do you remember the time when we were young? On this road, under the shade of the tree, there were two girls in 7 and 10.”


A wide array of yellow flowers covered the garden making it the most beautiful garden in New Year holidays. Putting on a new dress, I inhaled the smell of the fresh clothes, flying out to the garden and singing. My sister was standing over there, near the yellow blossom tree. Under the sunshine, it was difficult to say who was more beautiful: my sister or the flower. I picked a flower, putting it above the ear of my sister making her infinitely as beautiful as a princess.

My mother was going closer to us, with a spring in her step. Holding two of us in her sweet arms, my mother gently kissed our cheeks.

Drying the tears rolling down her face, I opened my eyes widely, asking,

 “Mom, why are you so sad?

“No, I am happy.”

“But why do you cry?” I was feeling concerned.

“I just thought if your dad saw two of his daughters growing up, becoming good and beautiful girls, he would be very satisfied.”

“Mom, do you miss my dad?”

My mother didn’t answer. She turned her face to the edge of the garden where my dad’s grave was.


It was a long time ago when my dad went to heaven to meet my grandparents, leaving a woman in her thirties and two small children. My mother had to be both father and mother, teaching us to be good girls. Growing in her love, we felt short of nothing. And then my mother left us again, going to visit my father in a gray afternoon. The wind was howling around the garden breaking the hearts of the two daughters.

“Sister, tomorrow is mom’s death anniversary. What do we need?”

“Prepare some yellow flowers. Don’t you remember that mom always loved yellow flowers?”

Outside there were some rays of yellow sunshine floating through the garden. The sun smiled and went to bed. The two old ladies were still sitting there…

A beautiful story by Lily Nguyen.

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