Category: Shorts

Wild shadows danced through the twilight. Wet wood crackled and popped, as the fire roared, drowning out the sounds of the night. She cried dry tears as the flames licked at the trees around her.

Heat radiated from the car where it had come to rest smashed against a huge oak. The hood was folded in on itself. The door of the left side was caved in, but she could see the shadow of the head within. She tried to move closer but the heat was too much. 

An animal scream, raw, unlike anything she’d heard before came from the car as flames licked the windows. Above the black smell of burning metal and wood, she smelled something else, like a burger on the grill. The screaming continued. Desperate. Pleading.

The sound of sirens reached her ears, but she knew they’d be too late. She pulled herself together for another attempt to get to the driver. An explosion deafened her, throwing her back from the car.

She lay in a patch of pine needles, dazed and confused. The fire climbed higher in the night sky, but its roar had lessened. She stared into the flames, mesmerized. She couldn’t make out the head of the driver. The screaming had stopped. 

Something trickled into her eye, breaking her trance. She reached up and felt a large gash above her right eye. She touched all around herself for further damage as the sound of sirens came closer. 

She stood up and placed a hand to her stomach just as something broke inside of her. Something wet began to trickle down her legs.

The ambulance arrived and she crumbled to her knees, as the revelation of what she had lost washed over her. She looked up to the sky and screamed her own scream of impossible pain.

It was then her tears came in a flood.

            The sky spit sleet, or frozen rain, it was difficult to tell in the darkness. Whatever it was popped off his jacket, refusing to embed itself in the black faux wool. 

            It had crusted over the morning’s snow, which now provided a loud crunch whenever he took a step; not ideal conditions. He took careful steps, picking out the spots he felt were safest but he had had to move into the street, slick with slush to get better traction. His boots were soaked, his feet beginning to numb and there were more treacherous icy spots, but it was quieter. That was what he needed, quiet.

            The February cold hugged him close, it seeped through the lining of his coat and had settled deep in his bones. He hadn’t worn enough layers, but then he had wanted the cold to come in, to cool his anger, and calm his mind.

            What he hadn’t wanted were his hands to go numb. He’d tried to clear the car, which would have made this errand so much easier, but the wintery mix had frozen the locks, making it impossible to get in. His hands had frozen in the process. They were now stuffed in his pockets, clawing at the depths for warmth.

            He remembered this cold from his youth, when he wouldn’t bring his gloves out to recess. His hands would get so cold they would hurt. He’d jam them down into the pocket of his jeans in hopes of some relief, but the material was always too thin. His hands would get to the point where the pain of the cold became normal and it almost hurt worse to have them rub against the fabric then it did to just have them feel cold.

            Those were simpler times. He fingered the cold plastic grip of the gun in his pocket and wished it were snowing. He wanted big fat flakes that fell in steady waves through the yellow light of the street lamps, not this icy whatever that made a ticking sound as it bounced off his hood. Too much noise.

            There was a pleasant memory of walking at night through a soft snow with his father. Then there was the memory of all the years without a father. That wasn’t going to be him, that’s why he was out in this mess.

            She’d asked him to go to the store because Junior needed milk. It was too wet and cold for her to feed him in this weather. They had a good spot in the doorway of an abandoned shoe store, out of the wind, but it was still freezing.

            He couldn’t tell her he’d spent the last of what they’d begged on a bindle. Not because she’d be upset he bought it, but because he hadn’t shared it with her. He was angry about that now. He was always making dumb choices.

 The convenience store glowed warm on the other side of the parking lot. He sighed. He wasn’t going to be his father.

            He slid from the room in silent relief. The din from his coworkers carried out into the hall. They’d been planning this for a couple of weeks, determined to sneak in a couple of bottles and a case or two of beer and enjoy the last day before break.

            Of course, Chuck’s boss, Ed had shown up. For a boss’ boss, Ed wasn’t that bad, but he liked to make a full day of it. They’d been hoping to shut down a little early and let the celebration start off early for those few people who had to get home to kids and dogs.

            Chuck had managed to get Ed out in record time and once he’d see his car leave the lot came in, the sound of his first beer cracking declared their day done.

            They had descended on the bottles of Jack and Belvedere as though they had survived a trek through the desert. Cans of Coors were crushed and cast aside. In the matter of an hour they had burned through two bottles and a case of beer with little sign of slowing down. They’d already sent Bobby out for another two cases of Coors. This is how they said goodbye to a native son.

            They’d been determined to go out; to hit every bar on Park, but he knew he didn’t have the stamina anymore. He felt his years now. This group was younger; he knew he couldn’t keep pace. Chuck had sensed it to and not pushed for something bigger. He wasn’t sure how long that would last.

            Hoping to quell the tide, he’d bought lunch for the office the previous Friday. This gesture only made them more determined to send him out in style. 

            After the first hour, they stopped toasting him every five minutes and moved into their office cliques. He stood in a corner with Chuck sipping at a Coors. Every few minutes one or two people would peel off from a group and come over to wish him well with drunken assurances they would all get together soon. 

He knew this would be it for most of them, the last time he’d say a word to them. He’d seen it all before. He envied their youthful optimism in thinking it wasn’t over. He smiled to each one, nodding his thanks and handing out awkward hugs and limp handshakes in place of truths left unsaid for years. 

Midway through the third hour the energy began to wane so Chuck, now better lubricated, proposed shots and a new round of toasts. It was time to go. 

He hadn’t brought a bag or anything that would incriminate him as leaving, so he’d be able to ease out unnoticed. 

He took up a plastic shot of vodka and hopped up on a chair, offering a toast to Chuck’s leadership and the great camaraderie of the staff as a whole. As heads tilted back to welcome the liquid home, he hopped from the chair and made his way to the door, making excuses about needing the restroom. Hands clapped him on the back as he went.

The air of the hallway was quiet, and he felt relief at being able to relax the act. He pushed the door for the stairs and welcomed the rush of cooler air and felt himself come down.

With twenty people in the room, they wouldn’t notice he was gone for a while. By the end of next week, they would have forgotten he ever worked there, but still, the kind words of today and the cheers had made him feel warmth for them he hadn’t known before. 

They deserved more, but he knew he didn’t have it to give. Better to leave this way.