For Whom the Bells Toll
CT Brain Scan (Photo credit: kargig)
The girls, 11-year old Cara and her 8-year old sister Maria, had learned what to do and they quickly, quietly ran toward the front door and closed it carefully and even more quietly behind them.
Their mother, Sandra, got back to her feet and said, “Josh, that’s the last time you will knock me down, and I’m not going to watch you sit in the dark and scream at the slightest giggle from the girls anymore,” Sandra said.
She kept out of her husband’s reach as he struggled to raise himself from his chair in the darkened den, just as she had hidden herself and the girls from him those other times.
“I’m not going to tell you again, Sandy,” said Josh, a former NFL defensive tackle, “there’s no way to make it better, to make the headaches or tinnitus even marginally passable, other than that damn medication or I drop dead.”
Turning to the door, Sandra said over her aching shoulder, “You’re right, you won’t have to tell me again that you don’t like taking your medicine–which was the reason you gave the last time you hit me and pushed Cara–so I left that gift you gave me for protection when you were on the road in the nightstand drawer…protect us.”
Here is my latest Five Sentence Fiction offering, based on a prompt from Lillie McFerrin. This week: Ringing.
A polling place at a recreation center in New Jersey’s 2008 general election (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
“I’m really, really nervous about this, Daddy,” 18-year old Jamie Gerwick said to her father as they walked down the dark tiled hall of P.S. 12 toward the polling place in the gymnasium.
“Oh my, don’t be, honey,” Leonard Gerwick said, placing his arm around his daughter.
“Today is the first time you’ve ever exercised that most important privilege of citizenship,” he said, “something generations of Americans – including your late great-uncle Bennie — have fought and died to maintain and protect.”
As they were about to turn the corner into the gym, Leonard stopped, his welling eyes looking into Jamie’s, and put his hands on her shoulders, saying, “You just go in there and sign your name in the book, confidently enter the sanctity of the voting booth and vote for whichever candidate you believe best represents your dreams and aspirations for yours and this country’s future.”
Jamie sheepishly glanced over her shoulder, pulled on her sunglasses and hissed, “No, Daddy, I’m nervous that Bobby Bannister will be in there with his mom and think I’m some sort of geek because you dragged me over here before I could fix my hair and get out of these sweats and flip-flops…gahhh!”
Here is my latest Five Sentence Fiction offering, based on a prompt from Lillie McFerrin. This week: Candidate.