| General Flash Fiction posted October 28, 2010 | Chapters: |
...16 17 -18- 19... 
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Why me? Why anyone else?
A chapter in the book Flash Fiction
One Moment Can Change A LIfetime
by Begin Again
Grandma's prized cuckoo clock chirped ... one, two, three times.
Sweat trickled down the old woman's weathered face. She pressed her parched lips together. The rocking chair creaked against the wooden floor as she watched and waited.
Her grand-daughter, Sara, heavy with child, stood motionless near the front window. Her fingers trembled as she brushed the drapes away from the glass pane. Her eyes focused on the black town car parked across the street.
Outside, the desert sun scorched the earth, sucking the life from everything. Time stood still.
Sara's eyes flickered toward her grandmother's raspy breathing. The innocent life within her womb jabbed her midsection. A bothersome cramp gnawed at her rigid legs, but she refused to move away from the window.
Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes, running her hand across her stomach.
Come on. What are you waiting for?
The car door opened. A well-dressed man stepped from the cool interior of the sedan. He fastened the double breasted jacket and smoothed back his hair. His partner rounded the car, joining him. They exchanged glances before walking across the sizzling pavement.
A small gasp escaped Sara's lips.
Okay, you know the drill. Weren't you with Sally last year when they came? Nothing's going to make this easy. So just let them come in and do their job.
She watched as they approached her door, dreading the sound of knocking. When it came, her body jerked. Her resolve crumbled as she sank to the floor.
The old woman shuffled across the floor. Her gnarled fingers clutched the door knob. Her sad eyes remained on the whimpering figure near the window.
The man knocked again. His partner wiped his face with a handkerchief. Neither one liked their job.
Grandma tugged on the door, allowing only a narrow opening. Her tongue flickered across her dry lips.
"Can I help you?" Her voice quaked.
"Yes, Ma'am. I'm Sergeant Major Edison and this is Chaplain O'Hara. We're from McConnell Air Force Base."
Her tired eyes traveled from one man's face to the other. Neither smiled.
"Are you here to see my granddaughter?" Sara's whimpering tore at the woman's heart. She wanted to protect her from this atrocity. "She's with child, you know?"
"I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but it's important that we speak with Mrs. Johansson."
Stunned, Grandma sucked in a mouthfull of the oppressive air. Her body sagged against the door. The Sergeant Major's arm snaked around her frail body, preventing her from falling.
"Ma'am. Are you alright?"
She lifted her head, looking into his dark eyes. "Pardon me, but my hearing ain't so good any more. Who'd you say you wanted to see?"
The Chaplain stepped into the room, glancing toward Sara. "Is she Mrs. Johansson?"
Sara lifted her tear-stained face to meet the Chaplain's gaze. Stepping closer, he extended his hand to help her from the floor.
"Johansson? Are you looking for Betty Johansson?" A tsunami wave of relief swept over her, followed by shame.
Grandma's eye lids closed for a brief moment before she spoke. "Betty Johansson lives in the house around back."
"We weren't aware of two houses on the same lot, ma'am. We're sorry for any grief we may have caused."
An awkward silence filled the room. The two men offered their apologies and retraced their steps outside.
Sobbing, Sara collapsed into her grandma's arms. The two women clung to each other, unable to speak, grateful beyond words.
As the sun sat on the horizon, both women prayed, relieved, yet distraught because another family had been torn apart by war. Jack Johansson wouldn't be coming home. Betty and her two children's lives would never be the same again.
Grandma was the first to break the silence. "I better get in the kitchen. They'll be needing some good home cooking to sustain them."
Sara nodded. "I better make some phone calls. Let the other wives know about Jack. Betty will be needing our support to get through the dark days ahead."
A list of names and telephone numbers was tacked on the wall above the telephone. As Sara made her first phone call, she whispered, "Grandma, my unborn child, and I thank you, Lord."
Flash Fiction contest entry
Grandma's prized cuckoo clock chirped ... one, two, three times.
Sweat trickled down the old woman's weathered face. She pressed her parched lips together. The rocking chair creaked against the wooden floor as she watched and waited.
Her grand-daughter, Sara, heavy with child, stood motionless near the front window. Her fingers trembled as she brushed the drapes away from the glass pane. Her eyes focused on the black town car parked across the street.
Outside, the desert sun scorched the earth, sucking the life from everything. Time stood still.
Sara's eyes flickered toward her grandmother's raspy breathing. The innocent life within her womb jabbed her midsection. A bothersome cramp gnawed at her rigid legs, but she refused to move away from the window.
Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes, running her hand across her stomach.
Come on. What are you waiting for?
The car door opened. A well-dressed man stepped from the cool interior of the sedan. He fastened the double breasted jacket and smoothed back his hair. His partner rounded the car, joining him. They exchanged glances before walking across the sizzling pavement.
A small gasp escaped Sara's lips.
Okay, you know the drill. Weren't you with Sally last year when they came? Nothing's going to make this easy. So just let them come in and do their job.
She watched as they approached her door, dreading the sound of knocking. When it came, her body jerked. Her resolve crumbled as she sank to the floor.
The old woman shuffled across the floor. Her gnarled fingers clutched the door knob. Her sad eyes remained on the whimpering figure near the window.
The man knocked again. His partner wiped his face with a handkerchief. Neither one liked their job.
Grandma tugged on the door, allowing only a narrow opening. Her tongue flickered across her dry lips.
"Can I help you?" Her voice quaked.
"Yes, Ma'am. I'm Sergeant Major Edison and this is Chaplain O'Hara. We're from McConnell Air Force Base."
Her tired eyes traveled from one man's face to the other. Neither smiled.
"Are you here to see my granddaughter?" Sara's whimpering tore at the woman's heart. She wanted to protect her from this atrocity. "She's with child, you know?"
"I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but it's important that we speak with Mrs. Johansson."
Stunned, Grandma sucked in a mouthfull of the oppressive air. Her body sagged against the door. The Sergeant Major's arm snaked around her frail body, preventing her from falling.
"Ma'am. Are you alright?"
She lifted her head, looking into his dark eyes. "Pardon me, but my hearing ain't so good any more. Who'd you say you wanted to see?"
The Chaplain stepped into the room, glancing toward Sara. "Is she Mrs. Johansson?"
Sara lifted her tear-stained face to meet the Chaplain's gaze. Stepping closer, he extended his hand to help her from the floor.
"Johansson? Are you looking for Betty Johansson?" A tsunami wave of relief swept over her, followed by shame.
Grandma's eye lids closed for a brief moment before she spoke. "Betty Johansson lives in the house around back."
"We weren't aware of two houses on the same lot, ma'am. We're sorry for any grief we may have caused."
An awkward silence filled the room. The two men offered their apologies and retraced their steps outside.
Sobbing, Sara collapsed into her grandma's arms. The two women clung to each other, unable to speak, grateful beyond words.
As the sun sat on the horizon, both women prayed, relieved, yet distraught because another family had been torn apart by war. Jack Johansson wouldn't be coming home. Betty and her two children's lives would never be the same again.
Grandma was the first to break the silence. "I better get in the kitchen. They'll be needing some good home cooking to sustain them."
Sara nodded. "I better make some phone calls. Let the other wives know about Jack. Betty will be needing our support to get through the dark days ahead."
A list of names and telephone numbers was tacked on the wall above the telephone. As Sara made her first phone call, she whispered, "Grandma, my unborn child, and I thank you, Lord."
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Thank you KimRoeArt for the use of your photo.
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