She exhaled. Her final breath. A new life was beginning.

Her eyes opened, a white light blinding her momentarily. She blinked, trying to focus. Sitting up, she looked inquisitively. This was not her body. She no longer felt pain.

In the distance: movement. Faces she recognized. Her father, brother and niece were welcoming her home.

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Tags: 55 words, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Reunion, story

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Tags: 55 words, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Reunion, story

This entry was posted on October 26, 2010 at 7:58 am and is filed under Fiction, Flash Fiction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.

This is my contribution to the “Little Black Dress” prompt #732 challenge for today.

She was early. It was the first time that a business meeting had been canceled in a long while. But she was glad to be home.

As she opened the door, she kicked off her shoes and gave a heavy sigh. As she inhaled, she suddenly caught the scent of perfume in her nostrils. It was her perfume. She dismissed it. The house had been closed up all day. The scent must have lingered, but she must not. He would be home soon too.

It had been a while since they had sat together for a meal. Their jobs demanded that they keep irregular hours, but they also provided a comfortable lifestyle, as evidenced by the luxurious home they had purchased only months go. She entered the spacious kitchen and began preparations for dinner. As she stood at the sink, her mind drifted back to an earlier time when they had first met.

It was a cocktail party. He was a distinguished looking man, older than her, but his features denied his years. Dressed in a formal suit, she was immediately drawn to him. It appeared other women were too. But, as she entered the room, his gaze met hers as if he owned her. She hinted at a smile and involuntarily smoothed down her little black dress. They were married six months later.

The vegetables finished, she made her mind up to slip back into that dress again. It had been a while, but the occasion begged for a little romance. As she climbed the staircase, the aroma of her perfume once again swirled around her face, only this time it was stronger. At the top of the stairs, she paused, trying to recall in which closet she had left that dress: the master bedroom or one of the others.

She decided it must be in the second bedroom, but her search there was fruitless. As she closed the closet door, she froze momentarily, thinking she heard noises from the adjacent bedroom. She was heading there anyway, so she quietly made her way in that direction.

The smell of perfume grew stronger as she approached. Her senses heightened, she slowly turned the handle and let the door drift open by itself. The drapes had been closed, but the light from the hallway created a pillar of light in the near darkness of the room. As she entered, she suddenly heard movement. Out of the shadows, a figure stepped into view and murmured, “How was your day, darling?”

Her throat tightened and her eyes grew large. Her husband was standing before her in full makeup and a long wig. And as she lowered her disbelieving gaze, she knew she would not be wearing that little black dress tonight.

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This is my contribution for Prompt #734: “Waiting For an Answer”.

Looking down, he was mesmerized by the swirling colors of the waves. His very being reflected the turmoil of the ocean below. Fearful of their reaction, he had left a simple phone message. But it had been days, and they had not responded.

He had always been popular at school. Tall for his age, his speed of foot and muscular body ensured that he would be a first pick on the football team. Girls were attracted to him like bees to honey, and he would be lying to himself if he denied enjoying the attention. His had the pick of the bunch for dates, but even as he groped his way through a string of girls, he had doubts.

There was no doubting that his father was a man’s man. Finishing his shift, you could always find him at the bar. More often than not, it was alcohol that spoke to his son. He pushed his youngest offspring in directions that mentally tormented him. His father’s rage ensued when he resisted his “suggestions”. He hadn’t had a fruitful conversation with him in some time. While he knew his mother loved him unconditionally, she did so in whispers, always publicly supporting her husband’s opinion.

It was his father who expected him to follow in his footsteps and work in the factory; his father who demanded he find “a nice girl” and settle down by the age of 21; his father who had pushed him into the football team. He had also pushed him out of the house after yet another argument. At 17, he thought he had nowhere to go, but he was relieved to find a sympathetic ear and a comfortable bed at his sister’s apartment.

It was from there that he had falteringly picked up the phone three days ago. A feeling of nausea enveloped him as he imagined the conversation. He would not be working at the factory and marriage was not in his future. The football team had offered him more than his father could ever understand. He wanted to explain. He wanted acceptance. He wanted an answer.

As he stood with the phone to his ear, his first words were ready on his lips. The monotonous ringing tone automatically clicked to a recorded message of his father’s voice. The sound caused him to motion back, to quickly re-evaluate his thoughts. He wanted to confide in his father; wanted to tell him about their first meeting; wanted to tell him how happy this guy had made him. Instead, he blurted out just three short words.

The wind from the ocean had grown stronger and his intention along with it. As the breeze swirled around his head, it seemed to be whispering to him “Three days is long enough”. He listened intently and agreed. He had been waiting for an answer, a response, a reaction – but none ever came. He knew his father would not understand, and that his mother would cower to that ignorance.

As the blur of steel gray rocks raced momentarily past his eyes, his mind’s eye honed in on the multitude of emotions caused by the three words in his message: “Dad, I’m gay”.

He had waited for an answer. The resolution was quickly approaching.

The violent turmoil of the waves continued, but as they crashed ashore, his wait was over.

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