Friday Fiction on a Moody Monday

Today's prompt comes from The One-Minute Writer, but I've had the cleverest idea. Unfortunately, like many ideas, it will only work if [you] are willing to help.

Rather than taking prompts from other sites, I would like to take them from you. I'd like you, my darling readers, to leave a comment whenever you feel so inclined, with a word, concept, event, etc. on which you would like me to write. Assuming I like it, you'll get a post responding to your prompt within a timely manner. 

Isn't this going to be fun?

I think so.

Any who, away we go.

{Glove}

The worn leather feels soft and malleable in Jack's hands as he picks up the glove. With a bit of hesitation, he slides it onto his left hand and it feels familiar and safe, just like it always did. He smiles a small crooked smile, almost a smirk, as he recalls his first times playing catch and his father's insistence that Jack wear the glove on his right hand. He remembers wanting desperately to please his father, but feeling clumsy and stupid every time the ball slipped out of his small hand. He was so little then, so unaware of himself. After weeks of this behavior, his mother disregarded her husband's grumbles and bought Jack a left handed glove. The change in his ability was almost instantaneous.  A succession of remembered practices and games spanning his life follow that first spark of a memory. An ache begins to grow within him, threatening to steal his breath right out of his lungs and stop his heart. Jack slides the glove off of his hand and sets it gently inside the box, knowing that he must not entertain the thoughts of a lost future. Those thoughts would certainly destroy him and all of the hopes he has for a 'normal' life. At the young age of 21, he must change paths, change dreams, simplify and grasp onto something, anything, that will keep his spirit alive. He closes the box in front of him, hiding away trophies, balls, gloves, and his past in darkness. His arms, now weak from long recovery, strain as they pull the box onto his lap. Jack picks up a different kind of glove and slides his fingers into it. It's small and fits snugly, allowing his fingers to move freely. It feels new and unfamiliar, but it keeps his hand from getting sore as he grips the hard, black rubber of the wheels on his new chair.

Along with prompts, I would love more feed back from my followers. I want to know your thoughts, reactions and ideas. So, if you read it, comment on it.

Love,

Lauka