Lightning Response - Short Story

Henry and Selma Higgins retired to a small assisted living community on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, not far from Tampa. Henry, being the more mobile of the two, spent much of his day wandering the neighborhood, picking up gossip, and managing to stay out of trouble - only just.

Selma looked forward to Henry’s walks because it got him out of her way. She loved the man dearly but wished at times he would cease his endless prattling. Take this morning for instance. Selma busied herself by cleaning up after breakfast while Henry followed her like a puppy begging for attention.

“Selma, did I tell you what old man Patterson said yesterday?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Did I tell you that he’s been keeping company with that widow down the way?”

“Yes, dear.” Selma said.

“Did I tell you—“

“Henry Wallace Higgins! For crying out loud, will you find something to do? God should strike you down for wagging that gossipy old tongue!”

Henry mumbled about only wanting to pass on some news as he kept a fair distance from Selma’s sharp tongue.

“Henry, don’t you pay no never mind to what that old rogue Patterson does. I don’t know what’s worse, the two of you old men together out causing trouble or you both on your own, getting into twice as much!”

Selma turned at a quick knock on the door. “Speak of the devil.”

“Hey, Higgins, come on out. Gotta show you sumpin’ out here!”

Henry looked to Selma.

“Oh, go on with you. It’ll get you out from under my feet. Just don’t get into anymore trouble!”

With an excited yelp, Henry grabbed his hat, pecked Selma on the cheek and headed for the door before she changed her mind.

Wiping off the counter, Selma dropped the rag and held a hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle. “That old man will never grow up.”

She settled into her easy chair with a glass of sweet tea and her favorite magazine. Halfway through an interesting story, she jumped nearly six feet while dropping her magazine when Henry bounded through the door wheezing and out of breath.

Holding a hand over her heart she gasped, “Good Lord, you gave me such a fright!”

Henry collapsed on the small couch, mimicking Selma’s hand clutched to her chest. “You should have seen us, Sel. “

Wheeze.

“We found this snake in the laundry room.”

Cough.

“And set it loose in the rec room.”

Gasp. This was from Selma.

Henry’s eyes watered as he laughed like a little boy.

“Henry Wallace Higgins, God should strike you down for all those practical jokes you play!”

The next morning, Selma and Henry sat quietly as they listened to the pastor’s sermon about the power of the Almighty God. Afterwards, they filed out of the church with the rest of the congregation. The parking lot emptied fast. By the time Henry and Selma paid their respects to the pastor, only a few cars were left.

Henry held Selma’s arm as he walked at her side, slowing his eager steps to her more hesitant ones.

“Selma,” Henry kept his voice low. “Old man Patterson and I want to—“

***

Selma blinked and shielded her eyes. She struggled to sit up only to find herself being held down by a man in a fireman’s uniform. “What happened?” she asked, confused as to why her voice sounded so far away.

“Near as we can figure, ma’am, a lightning strike.”

“Henry?”

“He’s fine too, ma’am. We’re going to take you both to the hospital and get you checked out.”

Familiar laughter drifted across to Selma’s ringing ears. How could that old fool be laughing at a time like this?

The old man’s body shook as he laughed. Those in the crowd murmured that the shock had caused him to lose his mind. For who in their right mind would laugh after being struck by lightning?

The first set of paramedics helped him to a stretcher while the others helped poor Selma. As they lay side by side in their separate stretchers, Selma held out her small, bony hand toward Henry. She shook a finger at him, “See, I told you that God would strike you down!”

Henry continued to laugh.

“What are you laughing at old man?” Selma demanded. Her voice hoarse and scratchy.

“You, old woman!”

Selma stared back in disbelief. “What?”

“God didn’t strike me down, he was aiming at you!”

“Why you old . . . “ Selma had no words to describe her outrage.

“See what you get for telling Him what to do all the time!” With a final burst of laughter, the old man lay back on his stretcher and motioned with his hand for the paramedics to put him into the ambulance.

Image credit: lhfgraphics / 123RF Stock Photo

Please Don't Go - Short Story

“Mommy, where is daddy going?”

 "Away." My mother didn't turn away from the sink as she washed dishes. The sun streamed in through the kitchen window making her hair shine as if made from gold.

 I ran to the door. "Daddy!"

Daddy stopped, put down his suitcase, turned to me. "Come here." He knelt down on one knee, opening his arms.

I rushed to him and threw my chubby little arms around his neck. Patting the blond curls atop my head, he kissed my face and told me to be a good girl. I kissed him back and begged him not to go. I held his hand tight between my two small ones as he walked to the door.

"Good-bye, baby." Daddy didn't look at me.

"Bye, daddy." I followed him out the door and watched from my seat on the stoop as he put his suitcase in the trunk of the car then climbed behind the wheel.

The car engine roared with anger. I winced at how loud it sounded.

I waved.

Daddy waved back. Then he was gone.

"Please don't go, daddy." I whispered.

 A dark evening, twenty-eight years later, my son said, "Mommy, where is daddy going?"

I heard the question but didn't know how to answer. I cuddled my little boy close. I breathed deep of his special baby smell trying to commit it to memory. I wanted to block out the rest of the day and only remember this one single moment  holding my son close to my heart.

"I'm packed."

I looked up to see my husband with a suitcase in his hand and a garment bag over his shoulder.

I nodded, afraid to use my voice.

"Daddy, please don't go."

My husband knelt down to absently brush away a wisp of golden hair from my son's forehead. "I have to, son." He patted his arm. "You be a big boy and take care of mommy."

Such a large load of responsibility for a tiny boy. I pulled him back into the safety of my arms. I whispered into his ear, "We'll take care of each other."

He snuggled closer. “You promise you won’t leave?” He asked with his child-like innocence.

“Never. Ever.” I crossed my heart. “We’ll be together forever.”

He turned in my arms and buried his face in my bosom. I held him tight as his father walked out the door. In the tiniest whisper, I heard him say, “Daddy, please don’t go.”

One day, thirty years later, I couldn’t stop myself from crying out, "Oh, mama, please don't go!" I held her  fragile hand tightly in mine. The sun shone through the bedroom window and created a soft halo of light around her head. Her pale, white hair luminescent against the pillow.

"Hush, darling. It's my time." My mama whispered the words as I leaned closer to hear her.

"I'm going to miss you so much. Don't leave me."

"I'll never leave you." She ran her fingers through my hair like she did when I was a child. "I'll always be with you." Her bony fingers shook as she touched my chest, above my left breast. "Right here." Mama drew a shallow breath and sighed. "Always."

Tears swam in my eyes as I watched my mother take her last breath.

"Oh, mama, please don't go." I whispered.

For as long as I could, I breathed in and out, hoping to never hear my son cry out those lonely words. I lost the battle seventeen years later.

“Mama, please don’t go!”

My son had grown into a tall, handsome man. I loved him so much. My heart, heavy in my chest, ached for him. “Don’t cry, baby.”

“Mama, you can’t leave. You promised to be with me forever.” His face, although lined with age, still held a boyish glow in the afternoon sun that streamed in from the window across from my bed.

“Darling, How could I ever leave my baby boy?” I touched his beautiful face. I held tight to my delicate grasp on life. I pulled him close to my chest and lay his head on a bosom long dried and useless. I gently brushed at the lock of sandy hair that continued to fall over his brow. His tears pierced through my thin cotton gown, straight into my heart.

“I love you, mama.” My son sobbed has he held me tighter than I could ever hold him again.

“I’m sorry, son.”

“For what, mama?” He hiccupped then took a deep breath.

As I closed my eyes, I gently touched his strong hand with mine. “For breaking my promise.”

The End

Wakernesh & Sephrina - Short Story

I thought I'd share a short story I wrote. Wakernesh & Sephrina. Enjoy. I hope you like it.

Wakernesh stood over the small kettle hanging from the iron rod across the open flame.  Instantly, heat combined with sumptuous odors rushed past his face to escape through the stone chimney above.  He sniffed; his stomach growled in response.

"You old fool.  Get away from that pot!"

Wakernesh shuffled himself around, careful not to trip on the ragged, singed rug in front of the fire.  "Sephrina! Away with you, you old hag."  He waved his hand and flicked his arthritic wrist.  His joints cracked as they attempted to obey their master.

Sephrina, pulling wooden bowls from an nearly empty cupboard, flinched. 

A small spark jumped from the fire and sputtered onto the rug.  It popped and snapped, breaking out into a small flame that threatened to spread across the dusty, twisted rags on the floor. 

Relief passed quickly over Sephrina's rheumy eyes.  "Bah! Old man." She shuffled across the floor and stomped out the small flame.  "Old, good for nothing, lousy broken down . . . "  She mumbled under her breath as she carelessly ladled a portion of hot stew into a misshapen wooden bowl.

Wakernesh carefully lowered himself onto a rickety three-legged stool.  "Watch it old witch," he said with quiet even tones.  "I've warned you before."

"You don't scare me, Wakernesh."  Not anymore, she added to herself.  Sephrina slammed the bowl in front of him.  Spatters of hot stew speckled the front of his torn, threadbare tunic.  "You are no longer the powerful wizard you once were."  She dished more stew into another bowl and sat opposite the old man.  "We have been mortal now for over a hundred years.  We both have suffered because of it."  She ran stiff, bony fingers through her lifeless white hair.  "Just look at me! I can't even conjure a simple beauty illusion."

"Sephrina."  Wakernesh covered her hand with his own liver-spotted, wrinkled one.  "You'll always be beautiful to me."

"Bah! Old man.  What do you know?"  She threw off his hand and turned away.  Hot dry tears wetting her eyes.  "It would take a miracle to make me young again."

#

Wakernesh stayed awake that night thinking about Sephrina's claim.  She longed to be beautiful again.  A miracle she wanted? A miracle she would get.  He worked through the hours of darkness pouring over dusty tomes and toiling over his mortar and pestle.  As dawn broke, exhausted muscles aching, he was ready.

"Sephrina!"  Wakernesh called with all the excitement he could muster.

"Old man, this better be good."  Sephrina stumbled out of their bed and to their small living space.

"I've done it.  I've created a miracle for us!"

"What are you babbling about, old fool?"  Sephrina peered at him through the early morning light breaking through the small dirty window.  "Have you lost your mind, too?"

"Not at all." Wakernesh carried a small vial to the table and sat down.  "Here, look at this." He pushed the vial toward his wife.

"What is it?" She touched it with a tentative finger, uncertain of its power.

"Our youth, Sephrina! Our youth!"  Wakernesh grabbed her hand with surprising strength.  "Look at me, Sephrina."  He pulled her toward him.  "This is my last spell.  Our last chance at youth.  I've only enough for both of us to regenerate 150 years.  I'm not as strong as I used to be.  That's all I could do.  We'll go back past the 100 years of being mortal and have fifty years as wizards before mortality once more."

Sephrina gasped.

"Think of it, Sephrina.  We can be young again!"

Her eyes held his for a moment then slid greedily to the vial.  "Are you sure it will work?"

"Yes, yes.  Half for you, and half for me."  Wakernesh touched a tender finger to her wrinkled, paper-thin skin along a high cheekbone.  "Are you ready?"

“My darling husband, you’re exhausted.  Why don’t you take a nap and we’ll take the potion after you rest.”

“You might be right.  Maybe just a small nap.”

#

Sephrina watched her husband shuffle to the small bed in the corner and sigh as he lay down.  She touched the vial.  Did it contain the powers her foolish husband said it did? She listened to his soft snores.

Without a second thought she uncorked the vial and swallowed the contents.  “The old man didn't deserve immortality.  He owed me for living in this squalor for a hundred years.  I will be beautiful forever!”

#

Wakernesh awoke as the sun settled behind the hills.  He felt a strange emptiness surround him.  Tears sprang to his old eyes.

He found the empty vial on the table.  "Sephrina?"  He whispered.  He searched under the table and behind the vegetable bin.  He crawled on his knees to look under the bed.  He peered behind the pile of wood next to the fireplace.

"Hissss-sstt!"

"Sephrina!"  Overjoyed, the old wizard reached out to pull her toward him.  He pulled his hand back and yelped with pain to find several straight thin red lines crossing the brown patches on his wrinkly hand.

"Now, now, Sephrina."  He gently coaxed her out from behind the pile of wood.  "Come here, little dear."

With her nose in the air, Sephrina left her hiding spot.

"That's a good girl."  Wakernesh lifted Sephrina from her feet and sat her on his lap.  He ran his hands over her thick, silky hair.

Sephrina stared at him with beautiful oval green eyes that seemed to wonder why he wasn't mad at her for taking the whole vial for herself.  She tensed her body, preparing to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

"Oh, Sephrina.  My darling."  Wakernesh fumbled in his pocket and removed another vial of sparkling green liquid.  "If you hadn't been so greedy, we would both be young wizards again."

Sephrina, wide-eyed, stared back, her eyes on the small vial.

Wakernesh plucked the vial’s cork and tipped the liquid toward his mouth.  His eyes twinkled as he met hers.  "Now, we'll just be wizard and wizard's familiar, my darling!"  With a chuckle he swallowed the contents as the kitten in his lap yowled.