by mbdillon

Bryan’s eyes were tinted red behind salty tears, and he could feel every part of his body pulse with the forceful pump of his heart racing to the point of explosion within his chest. Everything felt backwards with his mouth bone dry but his body covered in sweat, streams of the fluid cascading from his brow like tributaries of some great jungle river stretching to an unseen ocean.

Katie lay there on the bed feebly fighting against the arms restraining her. He watched in horror as the color drained from her face as if she were a chameleon blending into the tightly fitted white linen sheets, now stained thick and sticky in bright crimson.

He felt the French manicured tips of her fingernails pass beyond the borders of his skin into the hot flesh beneath. The pain should have been excruciating, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins dulled the sensation to nothing more than a mild irritation. He tightened his grip; her tiny bicep clamped within his right hand to the point that he swore her muscle had given way leaving only the bone to retain his grip.

Katie’s eyes stared up at Bryan from the bed. The didn’t simply lock onto his, they pierced through their glossy surface, passing beyond any recognition of self and into the realm of his soul where the rational mind couldn’t reach; that portion beyond the control of his consciousness and rationale where only those most intense of emotions were held; bone numbing fear and irrefutable love. They probed through that foreign place looking as he had never seen them before, a turbulent concoctive mixture of madness and sadness.

“Why,” Katie pleaded to him. “Why did you do this to me?” Her voice was feeble and raspy, choked by enduring such pain; pain she had never thought possible. In a sudden flash her eyes shifted from their search for humanity in his soul to weapons of blame and hatred. The glare became sharp as a razor and Bryan could feel them slashing into his very being with the relentlessness of a berserker. Her dulcet strains at speaking morphed into shrill shrieks of defiance as her body stiffened below him in defiance of her anguish.

“Let go of me you son-of *****!” she snapped as she writhed within his grip. “Don’t you dare touch me. Get your hands off me. You said I be fine. You said everything would be okay. YOU’RE A *** DAMNED LIAR!”

Bryan had always heard the first time would be the hardest. He expected the nausea, the feelings of dread, the need to turn and run away from the scenario would all be there. He just had to force himself through it till it was all over. Then it would all be okay, everything would be perfect again.

As he stared down at Katie’s writhing body his mind began to drift back as if riding an ebbing tide to when he had first met her. He knew she was the one; the perfect choice. She’d give him everything he needed. He thought about everything he had gone through with her. There were definitely those times when he was ready to let it all go. The fights, the harsh words, the threats all placed the seed of question in his mind of whether any of it was worth it. But none of that mattered anymore. Soon, it would all be over. Soon, he would be a new man.

Exhilaration filled Bryan with his new found resolve in the cumulative result of all his efforts. He bore down again, summoning up all of his physical and emotional strength for the climactic finish as Katie let out a howl that would make a banshee cringe. The screams energized Bryan, his eyes widening and his breathing becoming more of a slight spasm. A broad smile crossed his face as he continued to hold her down against every bit of strength she could offer to free herself of the incredible pain. The pitch of her wailing grew till he was sure any glass in the small room would surely shatter, but his anticipation only grew within him; fueling him, bypassing any hint of fatigue that attempted to interfere.

The sounds of Katie’s screams filled Bryan’s mind, rattling in his head like a trapped fly. His rapid and shallow breathing began to take its toll. The world around him became light and airy. He felt as though his skin had become tight and ice cold. His vision began to tunnel around him, growing bright in the center as his brain starved for precious oxygen. Realizing what was about to happen he drew in a deep breath, barely halting the oncoming loss of consciousness. His eyes shook in their sockets, disobeying his will to focus on the task at hand, to focus on Katie and her pain.

Then silence. No more screams. No more struggling. The body held in his grip went limp in submissive release. For a moment the entire world felt at complete peace as a sense of euphoria filled Bryan in a pulsing wave. Tears began to stream from his eyes, not of pain or sorrow, but tears of complete joy that the ordeal was done. The silence only lasted a fraction of a second before being replaced by the slightest raspy cough followed by the tiniest wailing cry.

“Congratulations, Bryan,” the doctor said as he laid a perfectly wrapped bundle of blankets into his arms. “It’s a boy.”

And so blows the winds of change

by Antram444

Jack flipped the collar of his coat up, shivering in the breeze. The steady drizzle of rain soaked through his jacket, permeating all it touched. He could barely recognize the once familiar streets. Even though only three years had passed, time stopped for no man, least of all for a man like him. The haunting light from the lamp posts illuminated no recognizable landmark. Frustrated, Jack ducked under a doorframe. He raised his arms, stretching and loosening tight muscles. The scent of juicy turkey and baked potatoes drifted from behind the door. He breathed deeply. His stomached growled in appreciation and his mouth watered. Food. Real food cooked by a family.

Food…

The smell brought back a lingering memory, one he wished he could forget, but couldn’t. Always present, always ready to slip back into focus when his attention wandered. Water trickled down his face, but not from the rain. Evalyn’s favorite food was turkey. She had cooked it every Christmas eve, even though Thanksgiving was only a month ago. It had been three years since Jack ate turkey. Three years to this day….

Jack watched Evalyn twirl in the fading Christmas Eve light. Her blonde curls bounced and her smile shined. Snowflakes graced her head. They had chosen a peculiar resting place, for not many things crowned her head that could compare in beauty. Evalyn skipped ahead of him, glancing back every so often. Her giggles floated back on the light breeze. She pivoted and skipped back to Jack. Her flushed face radiated happiness and youthfulness. Jack’s breath hitched as he gazed at her. This was love, that burning sensation in his chest.

“Jack? Will you run to the market and grab the turkey? I forgot to get it while I was there earlier.” Her eyes twinkled in the fading light.

She gave a girly pout. “Please?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice lest it cracked. Evalyn squealed with delight. She hopped up and down, clapping her hands. “Meet me back at the house, kay?” Without waiting for his answer, she spun, dancing away. Her skirts billowed around her as she glided. Gaily, she turned around and kissed her palm, throwing the kiss to the air. Jack’s mouth twitched into a smile as he caught it and pressed it to his face. She giggled and floated away.

*****

Jack balanced the brown bag on one knee while trying to open the apartment door. His key always jammed, and tonight was no exception.

“Evalyn, can you get the door?” Jack pounded on the wood. “Evalyn?” No response. Typical Evalyn, Jack thought, head always in the clouds, soaring and racing with the wind. She possessed a free soul. It wouldn’t surprise him one bit if scientists ever proved the existence of fairies, she had some fay blood. Finally, the lock clicked and he turned the door. The lights were off. He groaned and groped around for the switch until he found it. The apartment warbled into existence. The light illuminated nothing. The bare apartment stared at him. Jack glanced around, confused. His large eyes took in everything and nothing. He turned his head. The light glinted off something on the table. He couldn’t see what it was from where he stood. He hesitated but slowly walked towards the shiny object. Something felt wrong. The object glinted in the light again. Something was very wrong.

The paper bag thudded to the floor. The object, the sparkly object, was a ring. A wedding ring. A piece of paper was rolled inside. His pale face showed confusion. After steadying his hand, Jack picked up the ring and slid the note out. “Sorry,” it read. “The winds of change have blown me elsewhere.” An arrow pointed to the other side. “P.S.: The turkey cooks for 2 hrs on 450.”. Jack flipped it over again. His eyes flicked back and forth across the paper, looking for a clue he had missed. Where was she? Where was she? Sweat dripped down his face and the stuffy air pressed down on him. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. The ring clattered to the floor, landing beside the cold bag.

Jack tore the apartment up, looking for a sign. He dashed to their room. Nothing. He pulled out all the drawers of the dresser. Hollow. He scrambled to the bathroom, tripping as he went. Empty. Jack sagged against the bathroom door, his hand pressed to his chest. He tried to keep his heart from spilling out, but the tears came nonetheless. His shoulders shook as he tried to suppress the sobs. Gone. Forsaken. He punched the wall. Pain flared into his hand, but dimmed in comparison. Jack pushed himself off the wall, scrambling. He raced out of the apartment. He flew down the stairs. “Evalyn!” He shrieked into the night air. “Evalyn!” The word came out chocked and broken. A whispered remnant. He sank to the wet ground, his feet unable to support his weight. The whole world heard his sobs as his heart crumbled into oblivion.

The smell of cooked turkey drifted to him. Three years from that Christmas Eve to this one, and nothing had changed. Jack lurched away from the doorway, desperate to get away from that haunting smell. The rain was preferable over that despicable scent. Jack shuffled along and the rain soaked everything. Nothing went untouched. Water slid down his face, but not all of it poured from the sky.

“Unwrapped”

by Mike Ermitage (mermitage)

The unraveled red bow on top of the present requested fixing but I couldn’t oblige. I considered it a minor miracle that the present made it a decade with its neat, fixed bow intact. Even the red streaming curly ribbon under the bow survived albeit lacking most of its original bounce. The once vibrant green paper had turned a pale version of itself and next to the other presents under the tree, it looked severely aged. I could rescue it from its degradation, I thought, by simply doing what my wife wanted me to do ten years ago. And if she were here… well, if only she were here. You never forget the details of the Christmas morning your wife died.

“Hello, Mr. Van der kiln, this is officer Hanritty.”

Silence.

“I have some bad news for you. Your wife was in a car accident. She, uh, well, she passed Mr. Van der kiln. I’m sorry.”

Silence.

“She’s at Southwest Community Hospital.”

I hung up the phone without ever speaking a word. In retrospect, I knew something terrible happened to her before that phone rang. She went to the store to pick up another couple bottles of wine but too much time passed. I can think of a million things she could have been doing to hold her up - most of them involving the magazine rack at the grocery store - but I knew. I suppose others can testify that you develop a sixth sense about the people you truly love. Her last words to me were, “Found my keys! Love you.” At least I have that.

The funeral came and went and so did New Year’s. The presents slowly disappeared from under our fake pine until just one present remained surrounded by dozens of fake pine needles. Jenny had opened her present from me the night before because she was never able to wait until Christmas morning. I am stubborn, though, and always insist on opening presents on Christmas day. I nearly opened it immediately craving some connection to Jenny but then I worried it’d be my last connection. So, I saved it. It moved from apartment to apartment and now into my condo. It rested comfortably in a bag inside a box marked Xmas and made its annual appearance along with my sparse few other decorations. It visited attics and garage shelf space as well as apartment storage units. But it did so in style, occupying the safest spot away from all the items that seem to attach themselves to an individual, the crown jewel of the traveling refuse.

Every Christmas, I spend some time with the present, holding it and giving it a light shake. Sometimes, I pour a glass of red wine, extract my favorite pictures of Jenny, and travel back in time right there on my living room floor. This Christmas, however, is different. I am engaged to a wonderful new woman who laughs at my jokes and writes me notes on my foggy car windows. Silly, I know, for two mid-40 year olds to act, but liberating nonetheless. I will be married for a second time and I keep telling myself that this is how life goes. I do have the capacity to love again, I feel, even if that love manifests itself quite differently. My heart doesn’t leap with adoration this time around but instead warms with appreciation. We move into a new house in January and we’ll be sharing a Christmas tree next December. I’m not sure if our Christmas tree should hover above this present. I’m not sure if Jenny has a place there.

My favorite album from our time together is not from our wedding or from our honeymoon. We took a day trip once to a small lake front town completely on a whim. We swam in the lake, barbecued on a makeshift fire, and napped on a hammock. I look at those pictures now and I marvel at how young she looked. I have a favorite picture. Jenny is sitting on the edge of the hammock with her arms outstretched. I can feel her chestnut eyes staring back at me with her long arms seeming to reach out to hug me. Her favorite maroon sweater dotted with bits of fallen leaves.

I take a sip of wine and let it settle on the front of my tongue just as Jenny and I had learned all those years ago at that wine tasting class. I swallow and its bitterness touches my toes.

“Should I open your present to me, Jenny?”

I read the label on the present - To: My Wonderful Husband, From: Jenny!

A solitary tear splashes on the green paper with a whispered splish.

I clumsily tie the bow again and place it back under the tree. Not this Christmas. Not this Christmas.

*See all of our writing contests

Purpose: Have fun, enjoy the competition, and become a better author by participating in the peer critique process portion of this contest. Learn more about flash fiction.

Who Can Enter: This contest is open to all authors. All submissions must be posted and assigned critiques completed by December 31, 2009. Entries must be 1000 words or fewer. You may post additional stories to this site for critique, but only one story  will be eligible for the contest.

Subject Matter: A holiday theme. Any holiday will do. The flash fiction should adhere to our content policy.

Prizes: The winner of this contest will receive $50.

How to Enter: It’s pretty easy

1. Create a free account or sign in for existing members.
2. Upload your story; make sure you select “Flash Fiction Writing Contest” as the category.
3. Submit your work for peer critique.
4. Complete your assigned reviews. This is discussed more below.

Decisions: There will be 2 rounds of judging.

1. Authors from the Review Fuse staff will select the 3 best works for Round 2.
2. Of these 3 works selected, Review Fuse management will select the winning authors based on who gave the most detailed and well thought out critiques to their peer’s.

Entry Fee: There are no entry fees or purchases of any kind required to enter and win the contest. After you submit your work to the contest you will be required to complete assigned critiques of other authors (4 for free members and 3 for premium members). You will receive 3 critiques of your work in return. Those who do not complete their critiques will not be eligible to win the contest.

Rights: All stories remain the sole property of the author. After we have selected the winner we will seek permission from the author to publish the winning work on our blog. The author is under no obligation to allow this.

Notification: The prize winner will be notified by email on January 9, 2010. We will announce the prize winner on our blog on January 11, 2010.

“The Hot Pink Headband with the Bow” by Lindzander was selected at the winner of the flash fiction writing contest.

Second place is “Disaster Relief” by AngelaLambertHustus and third place is “The greatest gift” by ReenaHelmy.

I emailed Lindzander on Saturday to request permission to post the wining story on this announcement. I have not received a reply yet. I will update this post when I receive a reply.

Jacob

*See all of our writing contests

Purpose: Have fun, enjoy the competition, and become a better author by participating in the peer critique process portion of this contest. Learn more about flash fiction.

Who Can Enter: This contest is open to all authors. All submissions must be posted and assigned critiques completed by July 31, 2009. Stories must be 1000 words or fewer. You may post additional stories to this site for critique, but only one story  will be eligible for the contest.

Subject Matter: You choose. The flash fiction should adhere to our content policy.

Prizes: The winner of this contest will receive $100.

How to Enter: It’s pretty easy

1. Create a free account or sign in for existing members.
2. Upload your story; make sure you select “Flash Fiction Writing Contest” as the category.
3. Submit your work for peer critique.
4. Complete your assigned reviews, this is discussed more below.

Decisions: There will be 2 rounds of judging.

1. Authors from the Review Fuse staff will select the 3 best works for Round 2.
2. Of these 3 works selected, Review Fuse management will select the winning authors based on who gave the most detailed and well thought out critiques to their peer’s.

Entry Fee: There are no entry fees or purchases of any kind required to enter and win the contest. After you submit your work to the contest you will be required to complete assigned critiques of other authors (4 for free members and 2 for premium members). You will receive 3 critiques of your work in return. Those who do not complete their critiques will not be eligible to win the contest.

Rights: All stories remain the sole property of the author. After we have selected the winner we will seek permission from the author to publish the winning work on our blog. The author is under no obligation to allow this.

Notification: The prize winner will be notified by email on August 8, 2009. We will announce the prize winner on our blog on August 10, 2009.