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The Elevator
The elevator door closed, separating me from my mother. Earlier in the week, my mother promised me a trip to the playground. When the day arrived, a grin spanned my face. I rushed out of our home, called the elevator, and excitedly stepped inside. Little did I know, she was busy locking the door. As I descended to the base floor, I stared at my reflection. The doors opened to a resident, who escorted me back after noticing my mother call from the balcony. As I dove into my mother’s arms for a warm hug, tears rolled down her cheeks.
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This piece was written as a memoir of my past, personal experience. I took the time to reminisce back and share a story of mine with others.