| General Fiction posted August 22, 2016 |
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Life changes in seconds.
Lightning Flash (661 Words)
by jusylee72
Sunday
"Really, after nineteen years you still don't load the dishwasher the way I want you to."
"I told you, it doesn't matter to me, I am going to do it my way."
"It is so simple..."
I retreat to the back room. TV on my station. He resorts to the living room. His stations. John Wayne Movies.
Sleep finds us.
The light hits, much brighter than lightning. Loud sound follows.
"Doug," I search for him. "What is going on?"
Comfort, as I hear his voice.
"Stay where you are. I will check it out."
I hear the front door open. I think he is going outside. The dogs follow him.
Second Lightning. Followed by an enourmous blast.
Our house, built in 1890. Front of house has eleven-inch thick walls. Stones, huge rocks artistically placed by a mason.
Back part, added on, wood, glass, three little pigs house was blown down in the old fairy tale.
The back starts to crumble. I hide in the bathroom. Doug doesn't come back.
No more flashes. Silence. Fear is the only emotion left. I have to leave. I have to look. Where is my husband?
Precious, our young Jack Russell Terrier, finds me in the bathroom. She never leaves her brother, Spirit, our first purchase.
I pause at the word purchase, our first love is a better definition. The day Doug and I found Spirit , we answered an ad. We drove thirty miles to a small gas station. Five puppies greeted us. I fell in love with the girl. Spirit was Doug's choice. The budget only called for one. Spirit went home with us.
New paycheck the next week. I told Doug we had to go back. Precious was still there. Fate had left her for us. Someone had bought her and brought her back. They claimed she cried too much. She never cried once on our journey home. I held her the whole time.
"We have to look." I tell Precious. "We have to go outside."
Our door is solid. I open it. Doug is on the ground. Spirit is licking his ears. Trying to wake him up. Our morning routine.
We laugh as we lie in bed when the dang dog decides it's morning. Doug pretends it annoys him. The truth he loves the dog's love. The simple pure love that licks ears and says, "Take me outside."
I have no shoes on. I go back in. My flipflops are by the computer. I put them on.
I open the door. I see the clutter, broken glass, huge tree limbs, roof tiles, paper, mail boxes, lawn chairs, fence posts.
I walk toward Doug. Spirit is still there. Minutes pass before I can admit that Doug might be dead.
I look for my neighbors. There is only silence.
I scream. "Is anyone out there?"
Silence.
I feel nothing.
I do nothing.
I stand alone for a long time. No idea how long.
Night is coming. I pull Spirit from Doug. I pick him up. I walk inside. Precious follows me.
The dogs are hungry. I move to where the back of the house used to be. The dishwasher still stands. Our pantry is intact, including the dog food. I find a moment of pleasure when I realize it has a pull off lid.
I pour their food on the floor in the living room. They slurp it up.
The couches have blankets. We keep them there in summer for decoration. In winter, for warmth while we watch movies.
I take the thickest one. I push the dogs back as I open the door. Doug always had a flashlight by his chair. "Just in case we need it." I open the door.
"Stay." Flashlight, me and the blanket walk outside. I cover Doug. I tell him. "It might get cold tonight."
I walk back in. The three of us get on the largest couch. The dogs snuggle with me. Sleep finds us.
Sunday, Monday, Doomsday... writing prompt entry
Sunday
"Really, after nineteen years you still don't load the dishwasher the way I want you to."
"I told you, it doesn't matter to me, I am going to do it my way."
"It is so simple..."
I retreat to the back room. TV on my station. He resorts to the living room. His stations. John Wayne Movies.
Sleep finds us.
The light hits, much brighter than lightning. Loud sound follows.
"Doug," I search for him. "What is going on?"
Comfort, as I hear his voice.
"Stay where you are. I will check it out."
I hear the front door open. I think he is going outside. The dogs follow him.
Second Lightning. Followed by an enourmous blast.
Our house, built in 1890. Front of house has eleven-inch thick walls. Stones, huge rocks artistically placed by a mason.
Back part, added on, wood, glass, three little pigs house was blown down in the old fairy tale.
The back starts to crumble. I hide in the bathroom. Doug doesn't come back.
No more flashes. Silence. Fear is the only emotion left. I have to leave. I have to look. Where is my husband?
Precious, our young Jack Russell Terrier, finds me in the bathroom. She never leaves her brother, Spirit, our first purchase.
I pause at the word purchase, our first love is a better definition. The day Doug and I found Spirit , we answered an ad. We drove thirty miles to a small gas station. Five puppies greeted us. I fell in love with the girl. Spirit was Doug's choice. The budget only called for one. Spirit went home with us.
New paycheck the next week. I told Doug we had to go back. Precious was still there. Fate had left her for us. Someone had bought her and brought her back. They claimed she cried too much. She never cried once on our journey home. I held her the whole time.
"We have to look." I tell Precious. "We have to go outside."
Our door is solid. I open it. Doug is on the ground. Spirit is licking his ears. Trying to wake him up. Our morning routine.
We laugh as we lie in bed when the dang dog decides it's morning. Doug pretends it annoys him. The truth he loves the dog's love. The simple pure love that licks ears and says, "Take me outside."
I have no shoes on. I go back in. My flipflops are by the computer. I put them on.
I open the door. I see the clutter, broken glass, huge tree limbs, roof tiles, paper, mail boxes, lawn chairs, fence posts.
I walk toward Doug. Spirit is still there. Minutes pass before I can admit that Doug might be dead.
I look for my neighbors. There is only silence.
I scream. "Is anyone out there?"
Silence.
I feel nothing.
I do nothing.
I stand alone for a long time. No idea how long.
Night is coming. I pull Spirit from Doug. I pick him up. I walk inside. Precious follows me.
The dogs are hungry. I move to where the back of the house used to be. The dishwasher still stands. Our pantry is intact, including the dog food. I find a moment of pleasure when I realize it has a pull off lid.
I pour their food on the floor in the living room. They slurp it up.
The couches have blankets. We keep them there in summer for decoration. In winter, for warmth while we watch movies.
I take the thickest one. I push the dogs back as I open the door. Doug always had a flashlight by his chair. "Just in case we need it." I open the door.
"Stay." Flashlight, me and the blanket walk outside. I cover Doug. I tell him. "It might get cold tonight."
I walk back in. The three of us get on the largest couch. The dogs snuggle with me. Sleep finds us.
"Really, after nineteen years you still don't load the dishwasher the way I want you to."
"I told you, it doesn't matter to me, I am going to do it my way."
"It is so simple..."
I retreat to the back room. TV on my station. He resorts to the living room. His stations. John Wayne Movies.
Sleep finds us.
The light hits, much brighter than lightning. Loud sound follows.
"Doug," I search for him. "What is going on?"
Comfort, as I hear his voice.
"Stay where you are. I will check it out."
I hear the front door open. I think he is going outside. The dogs follow him.
Second Lightning. Followed by an enourmous blast.
Our house, built in 1890. Front of house has eleven-inch thick walls. Stones, huge rocks artistically placed by a mason.
Back part, added on, wood, glass, three little pigs house was blown down in the old fairy tale.
The back starts to crumble. I hide in the bathroom. Doug doesn't come back.
No more flashes. Silence. Fear is the only emotion left. I have to leave. I have to look. Where is my husband?
Precious, our young Jack Russell Terrier, finds me in the bathroom. She never leaves her brother, Spirit, our first purchase.
I pause at the word purchase, our first love is a better definition. The day Doug and I found Spirit , we answered an ad. We drove thirty miles to a small gas station. Five puppies greeted us. I fell in love with the girl. Spirit was Doug's choice. The budget only called for one. Spirit went home with us.
New paycheck the next week. I told Doug we had to go back. Precious was still there. Fate had left her for us. Someone had bought her and brought her back. They claimed she cried too much. She never cried once on our journey home. I held her the whole time.
"We have to look." I tell Precious. "We have to go outside."
Our door is solid. I open it. Doug is on the ground. Spirit is licking his ears. Trying to wake him up. Our morning routine.
We laugh as we lie in bed when the dang dog decides it's morning. Doug pretends it annoys him. The truth he loves the dog's love. The simple pure love that licks ears and says, "Take me outside."
I have no shoes on. I go back in. My flipflops are by the computer. I put them on.
I open the door. I see the clutter, broken glass, huge tree limbs, roof tiles, paper, mail boxes, lawn chairs, fence posts.
I walk toward Doug. Spirit is still there. Minutes pass before I can admit that Doug might be dead.
I look for my neighbors. There is only silence.
I scream. "Is anyone out there?"
Silence.
I feel nothing.
I do nothing.
I stand alone for a long time. No idea how long.
Night is coming. I pull Spirit from Doug. I pick him up. I walk inside. Precious follows me.
The dogs are hungry. I move to where the back of the house used to be. The dishwasher still stands. Our pantry is intact, including the dog food. I find a moment of pleasure when I realize it has a pull off lid.
I pour their food on the floor in the living room. They slurp it up.
The couches have blankets. We keep them there in summer for decoration. In winter, for warmth while we watch movies.
I take the thickest one. I push the dogs back as I open the door. Doug always had a flashlight by his chair. "Just in case we need it." I open the door.
"Stay." Flashlight, me and the blanket walk outside. I cover Doug. I tell him. "It might get cold tonight."
I walk back in. The three of us get on the largest couch. The dogs snuggle with me. Sleep finds us.
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Writing Prompt Write a flash fiction story up to 700 words that involves a doomsday scenario. Anything goes, but the end of the world, or its perception, must be a driving force in your story. |
Artwork by eShots at FanArtReview.com
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