50 Word Non-Fiction: Friendship – Batch 7

Every week, we publish the latest 50 Word Non-Fiction stories of Friendship. Read this week's pieces below!

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Not all friends are human. Some of the best ones have soft fur that comforts you during turmoil, wipes tears when you can’t show weakness to a human, and makes noises that are more comforting than the greatest of speeches. ‘It’s just a pet,’ he said. No, not to me.

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Great party! This tale of friendship, fun, and family is a colourful one. King Findlay Backmarch and his wee pal, Spike, were created in celebration of local life and family heritage. Also in memory of a friend's sad loss, 'Birthdays are Brilliant,' became real. What heroes!

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“Dave’s had a heart attack. I’m at the hospital.”

“Christ - he’s only 31! What are the doctors saying?”

“That he was lucky we called the ambulance when we did. He looks fine now.”

“Jeez. Is it too early to start rippin’ the piss out of him?”

“I’ve already started.”

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My chosen family

She’s the boat that keeps me afloat

When the tides of life threaten to pull me under.

She’s the wind under my wings that lets me soar

When the lead balloon of existence weighs me down.

She’s the philosophical questions, the laughter, the joy, and banter –

She’s home to me.

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You showed me how to make vegetable broth, a staple of the Japanese diet! you explained, talking about things I'd never heard before, like nutrients and minerals.

I convinced you I was different from those transient language school students who alighted briefly and left no imprint on you.

I was wrong.

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Friendship is having someone there to share your thoughts and feelings with. Through good and bad times, they will be there for you. They will never let you down or spread gossip about you to others. You may share the same interests—many good friendships are forged through people sharing.

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Out on the Hill

A steady pace up the mountain; one foot in front of the other, breaths in, breaths out.

Harsh rasp of feet on gravel, hands scrabble, poles roll and clatter below. Time slows with the sliding.

She moves fast.

I got you, she says, I got you, I got you.

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‘Jonathan doesn't like football either,’ she said on our first day. We stood on the curb, balancing backwards and forwards. The other boys kicked their tennis ball.

‘Shall we be friends?’ you said.

‘No, thank you,’ I said.

64 years and 400 miles away, we beer-zoom most Sunday nights.

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Multiple conversations at the same time. We pick up where we left off -weather, her cruel mother, my drunken brother- our rhythm. She thought I was simple when she met me, because I talk slowly. I thought she was French because she was tanned. Different lives, but this is home.

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‘Be my friend.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m lonely.’

‘Why are you lonely?’

‘Because I have no friends.’

‘So, if I’m your friend, you won’t be lonely?’

‘Yes.’

‘What if we don’t like each other… you’ll be lonely again.’

‘What if we become good friends… We’ll both never be lonely again.’