| Supernatural Fiction posted June 19, 2022 |
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Who would do ...
Mike's job
by Wendy G
Meg's life would never be the same. Mike was gone, forever gone. He had died! How could she live when Mike had died? How would she manage alone?
Their little farm was very isolated, no near neighbours, no towns nearby, but it had meant the world to Mike. And to her.
He had been the strong one, with the vision and the drive, but she had been his support. They shared a joke: he was the head of their family, but she was the neck.
She returned from the hospital, and made herself a cup of tea. She sighed. She was exhausted … but doubted she would be able to sleep.
Well, Meg thought sadly, there would be no more mugs of tea brought to her in the mornings, never again. She was almost overcome by her thought of Mike and his simple pleasure in bringing her tea. Yes, that had been his little ritual – to bring her a big mug of steaming hot tea in the mornings … well, until the cancer struck. After that, it was a bit more erratic. But then came the stroke on top of cancer!
The last two weeks had been a nightmare. She had struggled to juggle the farm-work with hospital visits. The dogs still needed to be fed, and so did the chickens, hens and ducks. The plants needed water in this terrible summer heat, and the bore water needed to be pumped and taken to the small struggling fruit trees and the vegetable gardens. So many varieties of fruits and vegetables – watering them was Mike's job.
She made the jellies, jams, chutneys, cakes, and soups and took them to the markets, along with eggs and any spare produce. A hard life-style, but a simple and happy one. She was feeling overwhelmed. But she would manage. For his sake. For his dream. She prayed for strength to continue.
Meg climbed wearily into bed. If only he were still here, she thought.
The next morning she woke, feeling strangely refreshed. She rolled over and was startled to see the indent of Mike's body on his side of the bed. The sheets were a bit wrinkled too, and the bed was warm. She gasped. How strange!
I'm imagining things, she decided. I must have rolled onto his side of the bed during the night. I don't normally do that!
Then she heard it – a sound she hadn't heard for two years: the sound of steady rain. The drought was broken. How strange! Rain had not been predicted. The fruit trees and vegetables would not need water for weeks. Mike's job. "Thank you!" she whispered.
She went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. There, on the kitchen table, was a mug of steaming hot tea – in her favourite mug! Meg smiled."Thank you!" she whispered again.
Supernatural Flash Fiction writing prompt entry
Meg's life would never be the same. Mike was gone, forever gone. He had died! How could she live when Mike had died? How would she manage alone?
Their little farm was very isolated, no near neighbours, no towns nearby, but it had meant the world to Mike. And to her.
He had been the strong one, with the vision and the drive, but she had been his support. They shared a joke: he was the head of their family, but she was the neck.
She returned from the hospital, and made herself a cup of tea. She sighed. She was exhausted … but doubted she would be able to sleep.
Well, Meg thought sadly, there would be no more mugs of tea brought to her in the mornings, never again. She was almost overcome by her thought of Mike and his simple pleasure in bringing her tea. Yes, that had been his little ritual – to bring her a big mug of steaming hot tea in the mornings … well, until the cancer struck. After that, it was a bit more erratic. But then came the stroke on top of cancer!
The last two weeks had been a nightmare. She had struggled to juggle the farm-work with hospital visits. The dogs still needed to be fed, and so did the chickens, hens and ducks. The plants needed water in this terrible summer heat, and the bore water needed to be pumped and taken to the small struggling fruit trees and the vegetable gardens. So many varieties of fruits and vegetables – watering them was Mike's job.
She made the jellies, jams, chutneys, cakes, and soups and took them to the markets, along with eggs and any spare produce. A hard life-style, but a simple and happy one. She was feeling overwhelmed. But she would manage. For his sake. For his dream. She prayed for strength to continue.
Meg climbed wearily into bed. If only he were still here, she thought.
The next morning she woke, feeling strangely refreshed. She rolled over and was startled to see the indent of Mike's body on his side of the bed. The sheets were a bit wrinkled too, and the bed was warm. She gasped. How strange!
I'm imagining things, she decided. I must have rolled onto his side of the bed during the night. I don't normally do that!
Then she heard it – a sound she hadn't heard for two years: the sound of steady rain. The drought was broken. How strange! Rain had not been predicted. The fruit trees and vegetables would not need water for weeks. Mike's job. "Thank you!" she whispered.
She went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. There, on the kitchen table, was a mug of steaming hot tea – in her favourite mug! Meg smiled."Thank you!" she whispered again.
Their little farm was very isolated, no near neighbours, no towns nearby, but it had meant the world to Mike. And to her.
He had been the strong one, with the vision and the drive, but she had been his support. They shared a joke: he was the head of their family, but she was the neck.
She returned from the hospital, and made herself a cup of tea. She sighed. She was exhausted … but doubted she would be able to sleep.
Well, Meg thought sadly, there would be no more mugs of tea brought to her in the mornings, never again. She was almost overcome by her thought of Mike and his simple pleasure in bringing her tea. Yes, that had been his little ritual – to bring her a big mug of steaming hot tea in the mornings … well, until the cancer struck. After that, it was a bit more erratic. But then came the stroke on top of cancer!
The last two weeks had been a nightmare. She had struggled to juggle the farm-work with hospital visits. The dogs still needed to be fed, and so did the chickens, hens and ducks. The plants needed water in this terrible summer heat, and the bore water needed to be pumped and taken to the small struggling fruit trees and the vegetable gardens. So many varieties of fruits and vegetables – watering them was Mike's job.
She made the jellies, jams, chutneys, cakes, and soups and took them to the markets, along with eggs and any spare produce. A hard life-style, but a simple and happy one. She was feeling overwhelmed. But she would manage. For his sake. For his dream. She prayed for strength to continue.
Meg climbed wearily into bed. If only he were still here, she thought.
The next morning she woke, feeling strangely refreshed. She rolled over and was startled to see the indent of Mike's body on his side of the bed. The sheets were a bit wrinkled too, and the bed was warm. She gasped. How strange!
I'm imagining things, she decided. I must have rolled onto his side of the bed during the night. I don't normally do that!
Then she heard it – a sound she hadn't heard for two years: the sound of steady rain. The drought was broken. How strange! Rain had not been predicted. The fruit trees and vegetables would not need water for weeks. Mike's job. "Thank you!" she whispered.
She went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. There, on the kitchen table, was a mug of steaming hot tea – in her favourite mug! Meg smiled."Thank you!" she whispered again.
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Writing Prompt The character in your story is involved in some way with the supernatural. |
Supernatural does not need to be scary. I wanted a warm story. A relative experienced some strange events the morning after her partner�¢??s death.
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