Origin Prompts

Once, an old woman lived just past the outskirts of town, on the edge of the wide, open field where the wild rabbits ran in abundance.

She lived there alone, her partner long since passed on into the next life. A sudden, unexpected illness had stolen the strength from him in the span of only a season, leaving her to linger, all on her own in the large, quiet house they’d lived in together for the length of an entire lifetime, almost sixty years together in the same house. They’d lived their entire lives in that house, experienced trials and difficulties together, they’d raised their children together in that house; first a boy that hadn’t survived to give, then a set of twins made singular in their twenties and finally another, final son they’d walked down the aisle before he and his new bride had moved to the other side of the country, leaving them both behind on the outskirts of the peaceful country town they’d always known.

He’d been a good husband before his passing, those of the town would tell; kind, hard-working and a companion she’d been more than happy to spend the entirety of her life with, if only fate had allowed it. Without him, they’d go on, she’d always seemed just a little bit lonely; her house colder, emptier, just the tiniest bit sadder with only herself left to walk the halls.

Perhaps that’s why she’d always been so welcoming to those passing by the field near her home; happy to invite anyone and everyone inside and let them enjoy the safety and kindness of her space and the gentle, motherly dotting she would always provide. Anyone that had passed her house knew they could come in for a cup of tea, something to eat and a bit of pleasant, interested conversation before they went on their way once more, leaving her to her own lonely company once again.

She’d had a name once, the old, lonely woman that lived on the edge of the wide, open field past the outskirts of town. Of course she’d had. But trying to recall it is…

No one left living in the town could recall it, nor the names of her husband and children though they knew they’d known them once; that they’d talked and chatted, taught and discussed all manner of things with them throughout the years of their lives. Those living held the memories of them in the back of their minds, it was merely attempting to focus on the details held in the very recesses that proved impossible.

They remembered her features though; the soft, round shape of her figure, short from the years weighing down on her bones and making their presence known in deep, weary aches. Anyone could have said that her hair had been curly, grey at the tips of the strands but a darker, rich brown at the roots of the hair that framed her kind, round face, bringing attention to the crow’s feet at the corner of her round, brown eyes and the smile lines around her mouth. They remembered she always wore the same kind of clothes, older pants of faded colours, plain shirts usually in whites or browns and cardigans, soft and woollen with simple if any patter.

Simple garments for a simple woman, fitting to her kind and pleasant attitude, the smile she gave out to everyone she met and the quaint home she kept all on her lonesome.

They remembered so much of her that perhaps her name was unimportant in the long run, in the light of the memories they had kept of her; her kindness, her willingness to let anyone, even complete strangers, into her home for a cup of tea and a chat, always so genuinely interested in anything that was said to her, always so genuine in how happy and proud she was of the achievements they were reaching, both large and small.

They remembered her genuine nature and wasn’t that the most important part of remembering a person? Their name hardly held up in comparison to the rest of them. A person was more than their name, they were the sum of all of their parts and so much more than that.

They didn’t remember her name, couldn’t recall it for the life of them, but at times someone that had had the pleasure of being allowed into the warm kindness of her home, before it had gone cold and quiet, would tell of the old woman’s love of rabbits.

She adored the wild creatures that lived in the field near her home. They would run around the field just outside of her window, groups of fur in various combinations of brown, black and white, their ears large and twitching at every sound that occurred within the large, open plain of their home.

She’d adored watching them, seeing them go about their days and their lives in their simple, unconcerned ways.

She would use them as a reason to dissuade any attempts to convince her to move closer to the town after her husband’s passing, to move closer to people and company and away from the quiet, reclusive sorrow of the house she didn’t know how to live in on her own. If she left her home then who would look after the rabbits that lived out on the large, open field between her home and the town? At least that’s what those old enough to remember would say was her opinion on the matter, spoken in her kind, gentle manner.

But the rabbits were all wild things; vermin to most, nothing more than free roaming, undomesticated creatures. They didn’t need taking care of, not from her, not from anyone in the town, the animals had lived generations without being looked after, they’d survive generations more without her having to sacrifice her comfort, safety and happiness. They had tried to tell her that, tried to convince her to see the reason behind their words, but still she refused to listen, choosing to remain in her quiet, lonely house; far too big for one single person to live in on her own.

The rabbits didn’t need her.

No one really needed her at that point, not anymore.

Perhaps that was why it’d been so easy for the people in the town to forget her name, for the old woman to pass from their minds once and she was gone.

She hadn’t had anyone to depend on her, no one to keep her in their minds once they stopped seeing her on a day-to-day basis or in the brief instances of being invited into her company.

Nobody in the town at least.

Once an old woman lived just past the outskirts of town.

But no one there remembered her name.