Finish the Story Part 3 — The Smallest Acorn

C2DAFFA4-70D5-411D-B324-7CAD9D64ED4D.jpegI got tagged by Cheryl (aka, The Bag Lady) to pick up where she left off on Teresa’s (aka, The Haunted Wordsmith) story about the smallest acorn.

Here’s how Teresa started itall off:

Alice loved collecting acorns and chestnuts with her grandfather. They would spend hour after hour walking through the woods beyond their old log cabin collecting and talking about this, that, and nothing in particular. Even though she was only twelve years old, Alice understood time with her grandparents was getting short. She overheard her mother crying one night and telling her father that it had come back. Alice didn’t know what it was that came back, but she was happy when her mother asked if she wanted to visit her grandparents.

On this particular trip through the woods, her grandfather led her down a new trail rather than their usual one that went down by the lake. It didn’t take her long to figure out why. The entire trail was lined with oak trees as tall and as thick as she had ever seen.

“These trees been here as long as I have,” her grandfather said, sitting on a fallen log to catch his breath.

“They’re wonderful,” Alice said, looking at all the colors that blanketed the clear, blue sky.

Alice started looking around along the ground for more acorns while her grandfather began telling her a story about these woods. She was really only half listening, but when the words magic, healing, and acorn reached her ears, she stopped and started listening. However, it didn’t take her very long to become distracted by the smallest acorn she had ever seen.

This acorn was perfect in every way, except it was only a third the size of a normal acorn. When she picked it up, it felt electric. As if some energy flowed out of the acorn and up her arm. It tickled and made her giggle.

“Whatcha giggling about,” her grandfather asked.

“This little acorn,” she said, holding it up so he could see it.

Her grandfather began to shake with joy. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was the …

And here is Cheryl’s continuation:

…the exact acorn he hoped she would find. He knew she wasn’t listening all that carefully, but finding that particular acorn was the goal. The longstanding oaks surrounding them seemed all at once closer to him. Alice didn’t seem to notice the oaks were closer, almost sheltering them both. She handed the acorn to her grandfather. He closed it in his hand and his smile grew big.

Alice noticed a change in him, it had been a while since she saw that broad smile he used to have when they played together. “Did it make your fingers tingle, grandfather?” She looked more closely at him.

“Yes, my child. Your finding this littlest acorn is the best thing!” He looked around him and up at the trees.

And here is my part 3:

What Alice saw next was not anything she could have ever imagined. Not only did he have a broad smile on his face, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that she’d never seen before. With the small acorn still gripped tightly in his fist, her grandfather stood up and actually started to do a little dance.

“Grandfather,” she said, her voice a mixture of amusement and concern. “Maybe you should sit back down on the log.”

“Nonsense,” her grandfather said. “I haven’t felt this good since I was a much younger man. I have so much energy and I’m feeling a joy I haven’t experienced in years. I know that, thanks to you, my dear child, thanks to your having found this small acorn and given it to me to hold, that the cancer has left my broken, old body.”

“I don’t understand how that’s possible, grandfather,” Alice said, a confused and worried look on her face.

“Let me tell you a story, Alice,” he said, sitting back down on the log next to her. “You’re going to find this a little hard to believe, child, but I promise you that it will explain everything.”


Teresa’s instructions for her finish the story prompt are to read the story as you receive it, then create the next part, and pass the story onto someone else until the story is finished. Please either pingback or post a link to your contribution in the comments of the original post.

So, I’ve read the story, added my part, and now it’s time for me to pass the story to Melanie over at Sparks From a Combustible Mind to come up with part 4 of The Smallest Acorn.

Finish The Story Blog Hop — Part 3

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Teresa, aka, The Haunted Wordsmith, periodically will start a story on a post and then pick another blogger to take over and run with it. This is sometimes referred to as a blog hop, since the story hops around from one blogger to another.

Here’s Teresa’s latest effort. She then tagged Melanie at Sparks From a Combustible Mind to go next, and then Melanie picked me for round three.

So for continuity, below is Teresa’s beginning, following by what Melanie added, followed by my part 3.

Here’s part 1 from Teresa.

After serving thirty-five years in the military, Austin retired to a quiet little town in the middle of the Catskills. He had saved money every month since he enlisted so that he would never have to work another day when he left. His plan worked, but now he found life boring and uneventful. Every morning he walked down to Jennie’s Diner for coffee and a little conversation, then over to the library where he would whittle away the day. Three months of this routine and he was going stir crazy. That was until a strange woman asked if he had ever considered writing a book.

“I never really thought about it,” Austin said, flipping through a magazine.

“I have a story to tell,” the woman said, “and I have a good sense about people. You are the right person to tell my story.”

“Um, I’ve never written before. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing I do. Meet me here tomorrow and we’ll start.”

She disappeared before he could even answer. He looked around, but she was nowhere. Austin shrugged. He would be at the library the next day anyway, maybe he would be able to ask more about what she wanted…and why him.

The next day, as the grandfather clock rang eleven, the woman tapped Austin on the shoulder.

And here’s part 2 from Melanie:

“I’m glad you’re punctual!” the woman said. Austin shrugged. Years of military life had drummed that practice into him. He was never late. And to be honest Austin was intrigued. His precisely regulated life was beginning to gnaw at him. Sure, routine and order were important, but he had no idea they were so damned DULL.  

Even though he’d lived such a life in his military service, there was always something to DO…some place to go, some orders to follow. As he rose in the ranks of the Army, eventually topping out at Colonel. His pension was substantial because he’d always given first rate service to his country. He was secretly really proud of this.

“Now about my story,” she began…but Austin interrupted her. “Might I know your name first?” he asked. She turned a little pale, but nodded. Hesitantly.  

“I’m Rose,” she said and extended her hand to Austin. He shook it, noting that she had fine bones, he could feel them right through the white gloves she wore. A bit dated, a woman wearing gloves. Those hadn’t been the fashion since he was a boy in the 1950s he didn’t think.   Austin wondered briefly why his thoughts kept rambling all over like they were…and he forced his mind back to the woman in front of him.  

“I’m Austin” he replied, “and I’ve spent the greater portion of my life in the Army. They weren’t big on writing in the Army, at least not my branch. Only Administration ever did much of that! Are you sure you want me to tell your story?”

Rose smiled. It was wistful and rather sad. “Yes I’m sure,” she said. “I KNOW you’re the right one to tell my tale.” Austin noted the powder blue suit and skirt Rose was wearing, and the hat with the netting and little blue flowers across the brim. Again it struck him that her clothes looked really dated and out of place. Man, she really reminded him of someone….

And now here’s my part 3:

Haunted by Rose’s manner and attire, and how she felt simultaneously strange and familiar to him, Austin went home that night, went up to the attic, and located his mother’s old scrapbooks. She had been the family archivists when she was still living and had meticulously placed old family photographs and documents, including birth certificates, marriage licenses, and obituaries, in dozens of scrapbooks.

After his mother passed, he had all of her scrapbooks boxed up and shipped to him at his home in the Catskills. He had never bothered opening the boxes and sorting through them before. But there was something about this woman who had seemed to approach him from out of the blue, told him that she had a story to tell, and that he was the one to tell it. None of it made sense to Austin.

He spent hours opening up the boxes and searching through the scrapbooks, not even understanding what, exactly, he was expecting to find. But he felt compelled to do so.

It was sometime after 3 am, his eyelids growing heavy and his mind weary, when Austin opened up the last scrapbook and began leafing through the pages. Suddenly he let out an audible gasp at what he saw on the page. We’re his eyes deceiving him? Was his tired mind playing tricks on him? Was this even possible?


Okay. Now I’m supposed to tag another blogger to pick up the story where I left off. I’m going to choose Michael over at Morpethroad to run with it. Michael, you can either write part 4 or send a note to your favorite teacher, Miss Teresa, letting her know that you won’t be handing in your homework today.

“Finish the Story Challenge” Part 3

So this “blog hop” challenge, started by Teresa over at The Haunted Wordsmith, involves taking a brief story she started and then passing it along to others to run with it. She titled her story “Come Join Me For Lunch.” Teresa tagged Cheryl, aka “The Bag Lady,” to run with it. And Cheryl picked me for the next “chapter.” You can click here to see how Teresa started it and where Cheryl took it. Anyway, here’s my part 3:

3D8D39E8-7391-492D-B0E5-04C16712B7C3As soon as she opened the door and walked through the Golden Arches, Louise was hit by the pungent aroma of grilled chopped beef and deep-fried potatoes. How long had it been she’d last stepped foot in a McDonalds? She honestly couldn’t remember.

Louise got into line and was trying to decide if she should be good and order a salad or indulge on a burger. When it was her turn to order, she asked for a quarter-pounder with cheese with everything on it. Plus, a large order of fries. Hell, the way her day had been going so far, she deserved to treat herself to something different, right?

So that’s it. Now I suppose I’ve got to choose someone else, huh? I’ve got it. I’m going to tag master storyteller James Pyles over at Powered By Robots. No doubt he’ll take this tale in an interesting direction.

Over to you, James.