Flash fiction: Flash fiction is an umbrella term used to describe any fictional work of extreme brevity, including the Six-Word Story, 140-character stories, also known as twitterature, the dribble (50 words), the drabble (100 words), and sudden fiction (750 words)
You were always the late riser. As usual I was up that day, long before you. I pushed the curtain aside to take a peek. The first day of holiday seemed perfect.
The mist hung heavy outside, making the vibrant leaves of the trees look colorless, like ghosts of their selves. Through them the buildings I could see beyond had the faded look of a picture from a past era. Everything looked so beautiful. My heart sang. I wanted to be out there, letting the mist caress my cheeks and weave its fingers through my hair.
I could hear your gentle snores. Even if I tried waking you up, it would take at least an hour for us to finally make it out of the front door. It was a snap decision. Putting on shoes and grabbing a shrug, I slipped out of the room, letting you sleep some more, undisturbed.
It has been five long years since that day, and you are still sleeping. Undisturbed. Never to wake up.
What made you get up soon after I left and come in search of me? How could you not hear the van that came around the curve? How could you be so careless? How could you leave me all alone? How could you have me find you lying blood splattered in the middle of the road on my way back?
There was a lone boy on a cycle keeping vigil by your side. His dad had gone to get help, he said. The van had driven off without stopping. All that came after I screamed myself hoarse trying to wake you up.
But you would not open your eyes. Not any more.
I never left the place. They tried their best, your parents and mine. To take me away. Get me interested in life, as they called it. You know how stubborn I can be. I felt you were here. This is where I was going to remain for the rest of my life. I teach in the local school. In the young bright faces of the children I search for hope to carry on. But on the days the mist hangs heavy, I go for walks. In search of a van that will come around the curve.
©Shail Mohan 2016
Day 16 NaBloPoMo 2016