Flash Fiction / A Sense of Desperation
I lay on the wet grass, contemplating all the ways I could spend my boring summer. Just then, I heard someone calling my name. I looked around and no one was there. Strange, very strange.
After a while, I decided I’d better go and check in on my brother. He was always up to some kind of mischief, and halleluiah, I had been assigned to take care of him. I sighed and looked up at the darkening sky. Maybe we would get wet this summer. Chuckling, I stepped inside my worn-out house.
Faded childhood pictures cluttered our living room walls. Millions of mismatched items filled this twenty-four by sixteen foot space. My mother had decided to go with a seventies theme, whereas my father had a Mexican-Indian thing going on. I got eye sores from just looking at it.
I rubbed my aching head and started walking towards the kitchen; I was sure to find my brother there. No one. I shrugged my shoulders, got my favorite cup, and turned on the faucet. While waiting for my cup to fill, I let my eyes wander. Nothing out of the ordinary. So why was there this strange feeling in my gut, telling me to get the hell out of there and run for it?
My hand twitched and my glass cup fell to the floor. Glass shards shot up, slicing my wrist. Instincts overruled my emotions. Without thinking, my hand snatched a towel from its rack, wrapping it around my bleeding wrist. I sat down and leaned against the refrigerator door for support. I yelled for my brother, but no one answered. “Thomas! Thomas, help me!” I called over and over again, fighting sleep, even as I was ensnared in its cold, cold grasp. As my heavy lids began to droop, my eyes made out a shadowy figure; a figure that had no resemblance to my brother.
- * *
My eyes stirred beneath their lids. “She’s waking up, everyone be quiet! Elizabeth… Elizabeth, can you hear me?” It was a deep male’s voice, husky and cracking.
Even though I knew it wasn’t him, I had to ask. “Thomas, is that you?” I heard someone’s stifled sobbing; it was my mom. Why was she crying? What had happened? Oh no, please no, not that, anything but that. “Is he dead?” I inquired. The room might as well have been empty, for I got no answer.
Earlier today I wouldn’t have cared if my brother had dropped down dead, but now that the inevitable had come, I couldn’t bear it. My heart felt so empty, so cold. My brain was working overtime, coming up with different conclusions at every turn. What was that nagging feeling that I couldn’t shake?
Slowly, agonizingly, afraid to see what might lie beyond their lids, I opened my eyes. As my eyes focused, I recognized my father’s worried face swimming in and out of my vision. “Dad,” I asked shakily, “Dad, is that you?”
“Yes, honey. I’m right here, and that’s where I’ll stay.” he said, brushing my hair out of my face. My head began to sag; sleep was calling back to me, and I couldn’t resist.
“Dad, there’s something I have to tell you. Somebody was here… in this house…when…” Saliva was building in my mouth; my tongue felt like it weighed a ton, I couldn’t speak.
“Hurry! Someone call the ambulance, I think she’s having a seizure. Sweetie, hang in there, you’ll be all right, I know you will.” My father began yelling orders left and right, while I lay on the cold linoleum floor, staring up at the inky blackness underneath my lids. I felt myself being lifted onto a gurney and then being rolled out of the crowded kitchen. I heard someone scream, my head felt dizzy, oh so dizzy, and wait, why were they screaming? A sense of desperation filled me, for no reason that I could ascertain. The gurney hit a bump, and then another. They were putting me somewhere, in a place where the light never shines.
“Wait,” my father yelled. Daddy, I’m fine, was what I tried to say, don’t worry about me, but he did, and he had good reason to. I felt a sharp stab in my arm, and fell back into the waiting arms of my dark lover.
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This is a good story, but vague. It’s good to leave the reader wanting more, but I really didn’t feel like I knew the narrator much at all.
And the glass shards shooting up high enough to slice a wrist almost took me completely out of the story. It reads awkwardly.
Other than that, you’ve described the home well enough to allow the reader to fill in the blanks. ’faded pictures, mismatched items, seventies theme’ etc. The confusion felt is demonstrated quite thoroughly, and you understand what this person must be feeling quite easily, down to the foggy assumption that the brother was dead.
Overall, it’s good, and I would enjoy seeing this again.
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