Author: Liu Junxi, Class 4, Grade 6, Chengdu Academy of Educational Sciences Affiliated School
An embroidery needle lies quietly in mother's box, filled with stories about love.
This embroidery needle has traces of rust all over it. It has experienced the torture of the knife of time and shows the traces of time. It has been lying in the box for several years.
It was a pleasant afternoon. The wind blew gently and the birds sang gracefully. The clouds floated like ripples in the lake. The flowers moved with the songs of the birds. The grass sat quietly. It seemed that he couldn't bear to disturb the tranquility in the house.
I was lying on the sofa, holding a book in my hand, reading with gusto. My mother sat aside and sewed my torn clothes. When I was a child, I was very naughty. I would make holes in new clothes when I put them on my body. My mother, who did not know how to sew, often asked my grandma for advice, and my sewing skills became better and better. But no matter how good your craftsmanship is, you can't escape being pricked by the embroidery needle. Sure enough, she yelled "ouch" and blood oozed from her fingers. I jumped up and ran and said, "Don't move, wait a minute, I'll get something to disinfect you!" I hurried downstairs and got the medicine box to disinfect my mother. She stared blankly at me as I disinfected her. She didn’t say a word until the end, but she felt a little more relieved at the corner of her mouth.
Thirty years ago, it was still a sunny afternoon, and my mother was still a lively and lovely little girl. She sat on the edge of the bed, shaking her legs and watching the newly purchased color TV. Grandma was sitting on the bed, sewing the same clothes my mother had torn. She was as naughty as I was when she was a child. Suddenly, she yelled "Ouch", and a drop of blood dripped from her hand, and it dripped on the bed. It was a shocking red color, which is the bright color of maternal love. The little girl rushed out and brought in a handkerchief to stop her mother's bleeding. The mother touched the girl's head and said, "You are so good." The girl's sweet smile reflected in her tired eyes. Grandma used the embroidery needle in the box, and mother also used the embroidery needle in the box.
Now, although the embroidery needle is rusty, maternal love is endless and can never be spent. Father Time is really stingy, and as the days pass by, the picture of me cuddling up to my mother gradually blurs, getting further and further away from me. So only by holding on to the fleeting time tightly can we not leave any regrets, and can these stories about love never dissipate.
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