A/N: Reposted from the collection: Fickle Petals (this was originally drabble 2). Written for the One Character Boot Camp, #001 - auxiliary
Her Memories of Her Mother
Juri's memories of her mother were indistinct and dull like a once bright cloth washed too many times. The few photos she had separated them: the images of a woman singing softly to herself while hanging out the washing were the first to fade into oblivion; those memories of her sitting quietly with a gentle smile were the ones that remained.
They were enough for Juri, who grew in the shadow of that gentle smile while everything else became intangible like dying smoke. Even her father drifted: his face and form and voice etched themselves permanently into her mind, but it was like that all happened behind a translucent shower screen – a barrier she couldn't reach through.
Juri was okay though. She had everything she needed: a roof, clothes, food, other odds and ends and a dinner on Sunday evenings where there was only father and daughter and no shower screen dividing them. And other times she had the gentle smile that had faded over the years to become even more tender to accompany her. She didn't need another family member.
But his father disagreed, because he brought a new wife, a new mother for her. But Juri didn't need a new mother; she had all she needed from her old one: that gentle and indistinct smile she could mirror onto her own face and carry with her.