[8] nobody's perfect

The camera hung inanimately over her hand. A grin spread across her face. Isaac felt her eyes beckoning him to take it and slowly, he took the camera from her hands. It felt light, lighter than he remembered it. It had been awhile. He turned to stare at the ocean and back at her.

'Go on,' her mouth whispered.

She encouraged him. And somehow the world started spinning again. The air felt fresher and the birds sounded melodious. With just two words, she breathed new life into him again.

'Thank you,' and he replied with two words he thought best.

With a flash of a smile, he got up and glided towards the waters. Breathing the fresh beach air, he began taking several pictures of his surroundings. The camera clicked harmoniously against the accordion of the beach. And he knew it was worth all the trouble.

He knew his mother believed in him, in spite of everything else.

She watched him for hours with a smile. She watched as he walked up and down the sand, clicking the camera away and she knew it wasn't just about the pictures. He loved the sound of a picture being taken. The 'soft click of a memory being captured', he called it. With a sigh, she got up and grabbed the walking stick on the floor.

'It's getting dark, Isaac,' she called for him. 'It's time to go.'

Isaac had stopped taking photos now. He was staring at the ocean, breathing loudly and slowly. She could tell his eyes were closed, even through the dark sunglasses he was wearing. She knew he was listening to the waves crashing against the rocks and the sand. She carefully placed the walking stick into her son?s open hand.

'Thanks,' he whispered, his voice quivering. 'For today. For everything.'

'You deserve this,' she said, putting a hand on his back. 'You deserve to dream. You deserve to hope. You deserve to be believed.'

'Even -'

'Even though you're not perfect,' she finished, with a sad smile. 'Nobody's perfect, Isaac.'

He held on to the walking stick tighter. Other than his mother, that was his only other true companion; his ?third leg?, his pillar of strength.

'Come, let's go,' his mother beckoned.

Isaac nodded and slung his hope over his shoulder. The camera knocked gently against his back. He had taken a lot of random pictures. His heart rippled longingly at that thought. And although he wished greatly that he could see those pictures, all he wanted to see right then was his mother's face.

The face of his dreams.

The Blind Boy and His Mother - Nobody's Perfect

Credits to Farshad for the short story. Check out more of his works here! http://www.fictionpress.com/u/653097/lontanoshad