Flash Fiction - Blessed

Fire falls photo by Stephen Leonardi

BLESSED

It was late in the evening as the brown loose weaved linen curtains filtered out the last of the setting sun’s light.  A kaleidoscope of light blues, reds and greens flashed on the walls from the small muted television mounted next to the ceiling at the bed’s end.  Richard paid it no mind as the pixelated screen showed rioters silently slamming a road barrier into a plate of glass. 

The rhythmic beep from deep in the display box suspended on a pole emitted softly that Richard was still alive.   On the face of the box were his vitals.  Sinus rhythm was irregular.  Oxygen was 83 despite the clear rubbery hose attached to his nose.  Pulse at 110 gave Richard some sense of anxiety, but it had come down after the last depression of the button on the pain medicine. 

The light brightened the floral cloth screen pulled around his bed as the oversized door to his room opened.  For a brief time, he could hear the buzzing of many voices, a floor buffer and falling blocks from the ice maker as someone filled a small plastic bucket like the one on the stand by his head.   Shortly it all went quiet again.

“Grandpa, it’s Denise.”

Richard feebly raised a gnarled hand in greeting.  “Hi, Sweetheart.”  His voice was low, but still held a strong baritone presence that carried well into the small room.  “I am so happy to see you.”

Denise took the raised hand and dropped into the chair by his side.  “How are you feeling?”

Richard looked at number twenty-six in his lineage.  “I’m doing as well as can be expected in hospice.” 

He could see the moisture dam up in her eyes.

“Now, don’t be sad.  Sharon, bless her heart, and I have lived a blessed life to have gotten to be a part of your lives.  To see you sell lemonade from the stand on the corner of the yard when you were six and when you were so determined to ride that bike after Karen did it first brought joy to me.”  Richard coughed lightly and took a deep breath.  “I’ll just close my eyes for a moment.”

When he woke, Denise was still there holding his hand.  “Thank you for being here.” 

Denise was about to reply when a rapid honking alarm emitted from the I.V. pole. 

He felt her jerk.  “It’s okay.  The nurse will be here in a second.”  As if on cue, the caregiver came in and pushed a button on the unit and took a flat bag down, hung a fat one and departed.

“Daughter of my daughter, I love you.  I pray for you each night that in your disbelief you will find the answer you avoid.”

“What is that, Grandpa?”

“That God is your Father in Heaven and wants you home.”  He squeezed her hand.

“I don’t know, Grandpa.  Religion just preys on the weak minded, to control them, separate them from their money,” she whispered.  “I wish I knew otherwise.”

“Sweetheart, I see God’s hand in everything.”  He fixed her gaze in a vise grip hold.  “Tomorrow, I will be too weak to speak as this transition nears.  I tell you this.  Go to the Horsetails Falls in Yosemite in February.”  He pulled his other hand over and took hers in both of his.  “There, when the trick of light fires the water you will find in your soul only God can orchestrate such a wonder.”

~#~

Denise stood on the high bank as the sun rose gazing at the tranquil scene of water falling over the cliffs edge.  Suddenly the fall turned fiery red orange.  She dropped to her knees and cried. 

“Thank you, Grandpa.  If you can hear me.  I believe.”

Resolution Phase of a Novel

Resolution

Starting with chapter 32, I think I've moved into the resolution phase of my book.  Yet, I'm not sure what that means. 

The plot is resolved, the characters good and bad have come together and worked out their differences, for the most part, and now I need to end the book. 

My protaganist just keeps on going.  There is no plot left, but I just don't want to say 'The End' in the middle of a thought.  I haven't given any serious thought of a sequeal to this book.  Even so, I want to end it in a way that were the book to be accepted and people want more of my character I could do another book on him.

That isn't really the problem though.  I can cliff hang him for another book, it's the space between the climax and the flattening of his character arc and the end that perplexes me.  I wonder how much should be devoted to the resolution?  I have chapters 33 and 34 already written and having a hard time tying it all up. 

Anybody have any thoughts or feelings about it?

Flash Fiction - Lost and Found

Lost and Found                   604 Words

By E.J. Hall

      _{Tammy wiped her eyes on the torn short sleeves that barely covered her shoulders as the setting of the sun took with it what was left of the thin warm air. She shivered and folded her arms. Lifting one leg front of her, she wondered where she had lost her shoe. The filthy sock, trimmed in pink hearts, ended a scratched and bruised leg. Grandpa bought the shoes for her third birthday only a week ago. She hoped he wouldn't be mad at her for losing her shoe.}

      _{She moved up the mountainside climbing over large rocks to escape more thickets. Cresting the rocks, she slipped and slid down the other side resulting in a skinned leg landing on the edge of a small meadow. Tammy leaned back against the rock locking her jaw. She wasn't going to cry again. If only she could find the trail from the rest stop.}

      _{The shadows give way to darkness as she got up and started wading through the tall grass. There was still some lightness to the sky across the clearing. The other side had a gap that looked clear of trees and bushes; maybe the trail was there. Tripping and stumbling for what seemed a long time she neared the gap now nearly in total darkness.  The trail.  She was sure of it.}

      _{"Tammy." The quiet voice came from a faint outline of a man.  Tammy started to cry. She couldn't help it. The tears came out all by themselves. The man picked her up. She stopped crying as warmth flowed Through her.}

     _{"Well child," the man soothed her "you're fine now." Tammy nodded and hugged on his neck. The beard was soft. She didn't feel scared anymore. "I was with Danny, my brother and I got lost."}

  _{"Yes, Tammy I know," he told her. "Let's sit on this log till morning. You can wrap up in my robe. It's warm." The two of them sat on the log. "Do you know any songs?" he asked.}

  _{"I know I'm a Child of God" Tammy responded proudly.}

      _{"Oh good," he said cheerfully, "that's one of my favorites." They talked then sang. Before the end of the second chorus, Tammy fell asleep.}

       _{A ray of sunshine fell on Tammy's face. She opened her eyes.  Across the meadow, a familiar green checked shirt appeared over the rock she had fallen down last night. She heard him.}

      _{"There she is." He waved behind him. Two uniformed men appeared on the rock behind her father as he reached the ground.}

       _{He dashed across the clearing grabbing her up to give her a hug. "We were so worried about you," her father said.}

       _{One of the uniformed men tapped him on the shoulder. "Mr. Talbert, set her down so I can check her."}

       _{"Yes, of course. Tammy sit still so the deputy can look you over," he instructed.}

_{"Okay, Papa."}

      _{The deputy smiled at her. "That's a lovely pair of shoes you have. Those for Church?"}

  _{Tammy nodded. "A man helped me," she said.}

      _{He squeezed her shoulder and turned to her father. "Wow, Mr. Talbert, there isn't a scratch on her. No sign of exposure at all."}

      _{"Look at this Ralph," the other Deputy called from a few feet away as he stood in the gap.}

_{As Ralph joined him, Tammy heard him whistle. That's five hundred feet straight down if it's an inch."}

    _{"Yea, she's a lucky girl," the deputy commented.}

    _{Tammy's Papa picked her up. "What man, Honey?"}

    _{"The nice man in the long coat. He kept me warm, and we sang songs."}

  _{"Did he say his name, Sweetheart," her dad asked?}

  _{"Yes, I remember," Tammy looked smug as she told him. His name is Jesus."} 

Flash Fiction - Remote Control

REMOTE CONTROL

“I am so glad that you were all able to make the meeting today,” Mire told the onlooking group of the Bullseye adventurers.  They sat in a cavern carved from the blue-gray rock on the largest asteroid in the field.  In the bottom of the cavern was where the amphitheater was dug out of the porous nitrogen/oxygen rich lava like substance, everyone sat in apt report.  At the completion of the cavern and amphitheater, it only took six hours for the cavern to fill with the life sustaining gas coupled with a modicum of technology to reduce leakage out of the mouth of the cavern.  So, long as the shaker cam was active atmosphere filled the cavern.  

“Bullseyers, the day will consist of several venues for you to pick from, the agendas are transmitted to your personal companion pads.  First, we will have a report and lecture from Master Joten about the new sun darting techniques,” Mire’s voice rose with excitement.  Mire looked at the teleprompter hovering just to his left.  “There is a new sublight acceleration and speed run lecture.   That is in the seventh hour.”  Mire grinned and spoke in hushed terms that came through companion pads clearly, “They figured a way to vent their cabin air that gives a tremendous boost.”

A few ahs, emitted from some of the onlookers.

Mire continued, “There are some break-throughs in skid plating.  You can skip on meteors at eighty-gees with no damage to the exoskeleton of the ship.  That’s the third hour.”

#

 Notjim strode up on the rocks guided by the red Bullseye circles on the back of Karjen’s jacket.  “Wow, I can’t wait to try the air venting trick.  What did you think?”  Reaching her, he sat down to gaze out at the asteroid field.

“I don’t know?  There’s a lot of retrofitting needed for getting the doors to open right on our class Jaunter.  We’re not really made to spring from a standing start.”

Notjim pursed his lips in a retort, “Yeah, but once we’ve moved to a tenth of light we soar.”

“That’s true.  We already have the record for flybys.  It would be nice to compete in the standings.”  She looked up at the Universe.  “That is so pretty out there.”

Smiling, Notjim agreed, “Yes, it’s gorgeous.  Is it okay for us to retro the doors?  I think the air vent will boost us to a tenth.”  He clapped his hands.

Karjen turned to see the joy on Notjim’s face as he stood.  “Okay.  Let’s get going.  Feel the ground.”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Men.  What do you feel?”

“I don’t feel anything.”

“Exactly, you dote.  The shaker cam has stopped.”  She grabbed him by the jacket sleeve as her foot slipped on the rock.

“Oh, yeah.  You’re right.  We better go. There will only be air for a couple more hours.”  He turned and looked back in the dark cavern.  “Gee, everyone’s gone.”  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his kabob and pointed it up at the asteroids.  Nothing happened.

“Well, you going to call the shuttle down?”

“I’m trying.  I think the battery in my remote is going bad.”  He beat it on the palm of his hand and tried again.  Again, nothing.

“Let me see that.”  Karjen took the remote from him and pried off the back with her thumbnail.  She looked up at him.  “Why isn’t there a battery in it?”

“Oh my gosh.  I knew it was getting low,” he told her with a crestfallen face.  “I took it out so I would have it when we made planet fall; you know so I get the right one.”

“Notjim.”  She handed it back to him.  “You’ll be the death of us yet.”

Flash Fiction - Lost Art

LOST ART

“How do you get all the way up there, Father?”  Tin asked.

“We use planks and ropes through a pulley system that reduces the effort needed to lift me to the head.”

“When I have my fifteenth birthday, will you teach me to be an eye carver too?”

“You must learn.  I am the last with knowledge of facial features.  Now that the Hebrews are gone and with them so much of the knowledge of construction techniques we are likely not to see the likes of this magnitude again.  It is incumbent on us to maintain what they have done.”

“How are the ropes put up there?”  Tin craned his neck up at the figure standing twenty stories tall to the left of the Gold leafed door frame. 

His father pointed.  “You can’t see them until you get close; the Hebrews embedded hooks in the rock wall every twenty meters.  There are small hand and footholds carved into the figure's body that is impossible to see from the ground.  Climbers take a small lineup to drape over a hook.  Other workers pull the line tied to the larger rope up to the hook. The pulley is attached to the hook, and the larger rope is strung through it.”  He sighed.  “There is a problem, though.”

“What is that, Father?”

“The hooks have been coming loose. So, we tie to two hooks to suspend the planks between.  Still, it is dangerous.”

“Can’t we fix the hooks?”

“We’ve tried.  We can’t figure out how the Hebrews put the hooks in and made them stay.”  He beckoned to the hoisting team.  “Are we ready?”

“Yes, Carver,” The nearest man of ten men nodded, grasping the rope descended from the figure.  “You may mount the plank.”

“Me too, Father?”

“No, Tin.  Another year you may join me.”  He pulled his wooden box of hammers and chisels along with a bucket of mortar onto the board and stepped on holding the rope on one side.”

Tin watched as the twenty men, ten on each side, pulled raising his father up the side of the figure's skirt.  One man off to the side was calling cadence. 

“Now PULL, Now PULL,” the man’s base voice called.  His father rose in jerks until he was but a speck.

Suddenly, all ten men fell backward as the rope went slack.

Tin saw the end of the plank drop and pointed.  “My father,” He cried.

The first thing to hit the ground was his father’s box of tools, exploding and scattering its contents.  Immediately following was the bucket of mortar which sprayed all around with the gray-brown prepared mud. 

Tin looked up to see his father dangling from the end of the plank.  The men on the other side started to lower him. 

“Easy,” Tin called out.  “Don’t drop him.”

When they were twenty-five meters, the remaining men fell back as the others had.  Tin’s father hit the ground with a dull thud.  Tin sprinted over to him.  His father's eyes were closed, and blood ran from his mouth and ears.

“Father, Father,” Tin raised his father’s head into his lap.  “Father, open your eyes.  Speak to me.”

“Oh, ah… Tin?”  A weak voice came forth.

“Father.”

“I’m sorry, Tin.  I won’t be able to teach you after all.  Another Hebrew secret will go to the grave with me.  So sorry. So…”  He went quiet.

Tin looked at the man leaning over them.  The man shook his head gently.

Tin hugged his father and told him, “It won’t be lost Father, I will figure it out.  I swear to you I will.”