Did you ever want to write a story using your MDing? Well, type your sample here! It can be about anything, whether it's about action, mystery, romance, etc. (but try to keep it interesting)! I will do so myself later...
(This sample is probobaly the saddest part in my MD story...)
We stand in silence, holding hands, with our heads down. I feel the small, soft, warm, innocent hand in mine, comforting me. It helps me hold the tears back...
She looks up at me with those deep blue eyes, rolling like the waves of an ocean. She holds her stuffed-lion in her right arm, which was a gift from her mom. I try to smile at her, but it collapses and I stare at the ground with my eyes closed. I feel a tear stream down the right side of my face, carrying some of the pain with it. Then I feel a finger wipe it away. I open my eyes, burning with sadness, and look at her.
"What's wrong daddy?" she says, "Why do you cry?"
"Because sweetheart..." I try to think of a way to put that she'll understand, but I can't. "You'll understand when your older."
She doesn't get it yet. With her young mind, I wouldn't expect her to.
We finally walk up to the smooth, wooden coffin, and examine the body. It gets harder to hold back the tears, but I manage it. With every glance I see the resemblance between my daughter and my deceased wife, with the small and curved nose, average sized ears, high cheek-bones with big and beady eyes, high cheek-bones, and the long, black hair.
I begin to have flash-backs of when we were together, like when we had our first kiss on the beach in the moonlight, when we went to the carnival and had the time of our lives, when we got married. I still remember how beautiful she looked, in the white dress with golden sides and edges, it was as if the entire world had stopped just to get a glimpse of her...
But that was the past, and the memories burn at my puffy-eyes.
"She looks like she's sleeping..." My daughter says.
"Yes she does, but this time she won't wake up..."
We go back to mourning in silence, until it's time to go. "Come on honey, it's time to go-"
"No, wait!" She says. "I have to give these to her..."
I don't know what 'these' are. She's pulls out a folded paper from her pocket, unfolds it, and sets it on the body's stomach, right under where the hands meet.
"Here mommy, I drew this for you."
I peer over to it to see what it is. When I see it I lose all my strength. I drop to my knees, put my palms to my face and begin to sob. It was a family portrait drawn in crayons, with stick figure bodies that have a round head. I was to the far left, holding my daughters hand, and to the far right is my wife, also holding my daughters hand.
"And here mommy," she sets the stuffed-lion under the limp hands of my wife. "He will keep you company in heaven."
I sob even louder, and I begin to ask myself 'Why her?'.
The little girl puts her fingers under my chin and softly lifts up. I comply and look up at her.
"Don't cry daddy, because then I will be sad and cry, too."
I use every bit of what little emotional strength I have to wipe away the tears, stand up, and grab my daughter's hand. We begin to walk away.
"Goodbye, mommy! I love you!"