Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Broken Dreams


Jessica and Paul grew up together in Kelowna. Both of them had spent a lot of time learning  to snowboard. At nineteen-years-old, Jessica could easily catch big air and do tricks. She often went freeriding down the mountain with Paul.

Jessica was worried because she had not seen Paul in two days. It was unusual for him not to contact her. She took the bus down Big White and thought she might go to Paul’s place.

Suddenly, the bus stopped. They were within a mile-and-a-half of the service roads when  [the bus driver spotted a man],”  lying on the side of the road. Jessica got off the bus. Recognizing the man’s face she saw it was Paul. Tears slid down her cheeks.

“I love you Paul. Please be okay,” Jessica cried.” We are supposed to go to the next Winter Olympics together. You’re supposed to marry me.”

The RCMP arrived then and a female officer gently pulled Jessica away from Paul. “How do you know this man?” asked the officer.

“He was my boyfriend. We grew up together.” The officer squeezed her shoulder.

After an autopsy was completed Jessica found out why Paul had died. He had had an aneurysm in his brain; it ruptured. Jessica was shattered.

 

 

Bird Mountain
http://www.publicdomainarchive.com The Mountain with Birds

Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting this flash fiction challenge.

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

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Poem: “On Mortality.”


http://www.mistabobby.deviantart.com
 
 I thought about a time when I would no longer be alive; I could be young or I could be old when I die.

Will my skin be wrinkled, thin like rice paper, with age spots where the sun took his tole. Or smooth in youth, ended early. 

I could have sickness early or later on, as my great-grandmother in her mid-nineties. She died of leukaemia.

Yet her son, my Grandpa, left this world only weeks later, emphysema, the price for years smoking.

But my Dad’s cousin was only thirty when she brushed my blond hair and I saw her never again, the cancer having gone too far.

My other grandfather died young, he didn’t make it until retirement. His heart couldn’t handle it; he lived a hard life. 

When I am a corpse, don’t let me rest in a coffin. Burn me to ashes and return me to the dust of the earth.

Don’t let children poke me, see how rigid my body is. Don’t let my corpse be the last thing my family and friends remember of me.

If I die young, I’ll try to be brave if I look death in the face; but maybe he’ll take me in an instant and there will be no more mourning or pain.

Please don’t sing too many hymns at my funeral, don’t wear only black, sing praise songs and country songs; sing pop tunes and rock ballads. 

Don’t make me out to be a saint or have a processional of cars. Have a happy affair and let people who knew me remember me as they want. 

If you want to know my ‘dream funeral.’ I think it would be a party. A bonfire on the beach or a meeting at comfy restaurant and bar.

If I go before my mother, God take special care of her. Don’t let my brothers forget about her or my Dad.

And if you think it’s morbid to consider one’s mortality. Know we are all moving towards death every day we live.

I live the best I can,saved from sin by a Saviour. But one day I will long to be at rest; the pain of life will disappear. I will go to my heavenly home. 

And I will tell you what my one great -grandma said: When I die don’t cry for me.

You see my life was a journey, this earth my temporary home. And I loved my loved ones deeply and I want you all with me when all is said and done.

One day I want to greet you as you breath your last breath. I want you all in heaven. I want you to believe in a Saviour who died for you, and took away all sin. 

He defeated death and evil so you could live immortality in heaven. And I know some of you are saying it’s only what I believe. 

But, I have faith and faith  is being certain. I don’t bet against the maker of every singular thing living and dead; every rock that does not move and every grain of sand. Of every amoeba, horse, dog, or human. 

If I were to bet my life, I bet it on God. I pray you do too because you believe I had rational thought. Because you can see a light at the end of the cold dark night of death. Maybe, you will see a cross.

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.