Tag: flash fiction

Eternal fear

“But why can’t I, Dad?”

James stared into the imploring eyes of his ten-year-old. Those blue piercing eyes he’d inherited from Lisa.

James hardened his look, “Because your mother’s afraid for you.”

“But—”

James took a step closer and his son stopped protesting immediately, shoving his hands behind his back where James knew he was twisting his fingers—an anxiety coping mechanism James had instilled in him. “This conversation is over, young man. Now go to your room, and I’ll call you when it’s time for dinner.”

Rick looked so small and sad walking away with his head hanging low. But James stood stern until his son had left the room.

‘But why?’ Rick’s unfinished sentence hung over his head like a knife about to drop.

He wanted to know the answer himself. They still had a few good years before they had to worry about Rick being peer pressured into alcohol or cigarettes. Why wouldn’t his mother let him be be a normal kid and play with the others after school?

“Just the thought of it makes me uneasy, James,” she’d told him when he wondered aloud. Thrusting the empty plates in the sink, she’d turned to him before he could reply. “Let’s not talk about this anymore, ok?” And she’d opened the recently-closed bottle and poured herself another glass of wine.

But, honey. If we block out all his chances of making friends, he’ll never learn to socialise.

James wasn’t brave enough to voice his thoughts. Not when she was almost drowning her third drink.

Lisa wasn’t an alcoholic. But ever since they’d moved out here, she’d been growing increasingly insecure. She wouldn’t speak to the neighbours, even though they’d made countless efforts to be inclusive. At least she still had work to look forward to, James had assured himself. The only good thing about his sudden transfer was that Lisa’s company had a local branch as well.

“A black boy was running around with a gun—inside a school! I just saw in the news.”

Lisa took a deep breath trying to calm herself. She didn’t need her mother to remind her what she’d already seen and heard three hours ago. She never missed news like this.

“Mom, we’re in the Virgin Islands. That won’t happen here.” Not when over 70 percent of the people were black.

“But, dear, I was so scared,” trembled the voice from California. “I know it’s only for a year, and you’ll be back home soon. But I can’t sleep at night knowing what these people are capable of.”

“Mom. I gotta go. My boss is calling me right now. Talk later.”

Lisa hadn’t slept well since they’d moved from Pasadena a month ago. She didn’t need her mother blowing into an already raging fire.

“Harding?”

“Yes,” affirmed James.

“That’s right,” replied Lisa.

“I’m Estelle, the nurse at Markson Junior High. There’s been a small incident, and we’ve admitted your son at the Lifeline Childcare Hospital. Can you come right away, please?”

Lisa arrived panting and flustered, just as James was asking for directions. Estelle assured them all was well, and insisted they meet Dr. Peterson before seeing Rick. When they entered his room, the doctor was reading Agatha Christie.

A Marple mystery, classic. James would smile when he recalled the incident hours later.

Peterson offered them water and explained what had happened.

Two boys had gotten into a brawl in class and Rick had tried to intervene. In the action that followed, one small fist had shoved Rick and he’d fallen against a desk, bruising his arms. The other kid had raised the alarm and insisted on bringing him to the hospital in case Rick had hurt his head.

He hadn’t, the doctor assured the nervous couple.

Tears streamed down Lisa’s eyes. James was shaking.

“Was it a black kid?” Lisa spurt out at the doctor harshly. “The one who pushed my son?”

“Lisa—!” James wrapped an arm around her, trying to pacify her, shocked at the outburst.

The doctor was shocked too. After all, he hadn’t expected her to display such hatred. At least not when he was black himself.

But he remained calm. Retaliation made no sense in this case. Instead, he replied cooly, “In fact, no. The boy who saved your son is black, though.”

He picked up his book again. “Make of that what you will.” And continued reading.

Dreams

Jesse stared at her silhouette on the blank wall of her room. Through the thin glass window behind her, peeked a bleak winter sun partly shrouded in a mass of dark clouds. The first storm of winter was upon them.

Stationary, Jesse observed the figure before her. Tall and lean, the shadow had a staunch confidence she’d never felt. The cape around its shoulders seemed fitting, as if the superhero within had finally broken free.

Jesse had spent childhood days dreaming of the waking moment she’d discover her gift. She’d imagined and reimagined the training she’d receive from masters she’d only read about. The waning sun had brought out all her secret desires, laying them out barren for her to devour.

As the light faded and the shadow melded, Jesse stood in the gloom. It pressed upon her room, while she listened to the ghastly winds that raged beyond. Alas, the darkness revealed her for what she really was—a shivering teenager clothed in a blanket against the cold.

Stage fright

Silence rang across the room, ricocheting off the jelled heads and cloaked shoulders. As Mary scanned the room, too fast to linger on any particular eyes, a dry lump swelled in her throat.

Urgently, she gulped it down.

She knew how important her audience was, and as she struggled to make a connection with the faces looking back at her with piercing judgemental looks, she knew they were anxious to hear her speak.

Only she wasn’t ready.

She tightened the grip on her chair, stretching the sheen of skin that clothed her knuckles. Despite the wintry breeze that raged beyond, beads of perspiration lined up on her forehead.

They were all looking.

Will she stumble? Forget her lines?

Breakdown and cry?

No way. She wouldn’t cry. She was an adult now, and this wasn’t her first grade school play. This was real life.

They waited patiently. Impressive, she reminded herself, considering she’d arrived ten minutes late. Though with straight faces and pursed lips, they’d welcomed her with the respect she deserved.

And it’s only fair that she spoke. Now.

She took a deep breath and, “Let the proceedings begin,” permitted the newly-appointed High Court Judge.

The woman who knitted

woman knitting

“Oh, it’s just nice to get away from all the noise at home. You know?” Her eyebrows had curved up while her fingers paused in mid air. I’d nodded politely even though I couldn’t possibly fathom why someone would go to the library every day just so they can knit. 

I’d just started working in the library when I met her for the first time. The curious stares never perturbed her, and neither did the incessant shuffling of feet.

People came and went. Since only a handful of them regularly spent time reading, the knitting lady soon became an icon you couldn’t miss.

In the following years, I spent occasions wondering what drove her away from home and into the library. I mean, I’d go when I wanted a book. Or to work or to attend a meeting. Theories constantly whirled my head—perhaps her neighbours were loud and rowdy, I mused turning on my cassette player at home one night. Or maybe her husband was a messy gardener leaving dirt marks all around the house to annoy her. Or perhaps, I wondered remembering my own grandparents, her grandkids were a pain in the ass and a torment to the ears.

But I never asked her.

“I should’ve,” I wrote in my diary the night after her funeral.

It wasn’t people that’d driven her way from home. It was lack there of.

Photo credit: Imani on Unsplash.

Scars

She had an unmistakeable spring in her step. It was a new town and a new life, yes but she would make it work. She was nothing if not adaptive.

She slipped into her new sweater, pulled on the boots, buckled up the coat, adjusted the hat, and walked out the door. Winter was fast approaching.

Hello, world! Her soul yelled. Show me what you got!

As if they’d heard, two boys came up from hind her. With watermelon heads and noses the size of grapes,”Yo!” one of them called out. A large cap sat on his head while chains dangled round his collar and fake tattoos plastered his temple. He leaned forwards, shoving her nostrils with the nauseating scent of long-packaged cigarettes, “you got cash?”

Before she could react, the other boy grabbed her backpack and shook her. Hard. Stumbling on the walkway, she mutely watched him fish her wallet and grab her buffer money. 

He thrust the bag at her, while tattoo face ruffled her hair, “Good girl!” He leered before walking off.

It was now an old town and accustomed life. But she still doesn’t look at a man’s eye without shivering within.