Stream

Title: Stream

Subtitle: Brightside

(Flash Fiction)

Copyright © 2020 by Earvin P Eugene

All rights reserved.

          The tornado had traveled through the quaint city. The night before was stormy, and this new day was calm. There appeared a noticeable contrast. Dark, rain, and windy force at night to bright sunny skies the next day. That is nature! Cyclic and fickle. Limitless beauty. An honest opportunity to present itself with something glorious. Something to be watched. The need to be monitored for the parallels of famine and bounty. The city was damaged from the catastrophe. Some areas worse than others. The local park that has always been admired changed. A substantial tree that stood at the center of the playground was missing.

“Where did that majestical tree go?”

“The tree has always been here. For as long as I could remember.”

“There must be a way to fix this.”

Many citizens gathered to witness something new

“The tree was damaged and torn up. Stretched a distance away.”

“I remember it standing tall, right here”

“Did you see what replaced the tree.”

One person shouted. “There is a river leading to a hole. Not a waterfall. Perhaps, a geyser.” The ditch being about half a meter in diameter. The pit was hollow and dark. Sounds of water was heard underneath. Maybe, it was some sort of spring. People suggested it had no end.

          One individual stated, “I wonder where it leads to.”

Chapter 2 - "On Time"

On Time

By Earvin Eugene

Copyright © 2020 by Earvin P Eugene

All rights reserved.

Knowing that Mr. Miller was affected by panic attacks, a great deal of

consideration was taken to break the bad news to him. Without much notice but

with as much care as possible he was told of the possibility of his wife’s death.

The message came from his brother, Victor, started by grim silence; a sad

face and stressful demeanor presented negativity. One could tell the truth was

burdensome. His wife’s friend Cynthia was there, too, near him. It was her who

had been on social media when information of the car crash was received, with

Jessica Miller’s name in bold letters on the list of "deceased”. She double-checked

Online. She saw it on several of her friends’ posts. People were sharing it

everywhere. She viewed the news repeatedly. It could be no hoax or cruel joke. 

He did not hear the story as many females have in the way they spread the

narrative. They were all in confusion. They could not accept the reality. Cynthia

shed tears; she was distraught. She needed time alone. Everyone gave her much

needed space.

There Mr. Miller stood, looking through the open window. He sat down

thinking. He was tired. Mr. Miller tried to remain as calm as possible. His thoughts

raced. His life was in turmoil. He believed he would never be at peace again.

He viewed outside and could see the trees, animals, and flowers. The spring

breeze was relaxing. The moisture in the air was soothing as rain was in the

forecast. In the street below a walker who was whistling. The sounds of nostalgic

songs were playing by local stores. It reminded him of a better time. Without

realizing he hummed the melody. 

The sky was clear and lightly blue. The window was an escape from a

sorrowful point of time inside. He sat with his head now at the bed. It was comfy.

He did his best not to cry. It was shameful for a man at his age to shed tears. If he

were a child, he would have innocence. 

He was mature, with a somber face, stillness and clear. It was the appearance

of a remainder of youth right before distinguished wrinkles would become present.

At this moment there was a lackluster glare in her eyes, whose view was located

away somewhere on one of those clouds in the sky. It was not a gaze of remorse,

but rather indicated a mystery of clever thought.

There was something coming over him and he did not like the feeling. He

could not put a finger on it. He did not know what to do. He was too clueless to

recognize it. There was a shadow hanging over him. All the signs pointed to

something ominous. 

Now his chest felt strain and heat. He was realizing something important.

Mr. Miller knew this was immoral, but he embraced it. He reached a glimmer of

hope and happiness. His heartbeat fast. He said it aloud: "At last I am free!" The

bad stare and the look of trouble that had followed it started from his eyes as he

roamed the room. Soon his vision became concise and vibrant as he looked in the

mirror. He was hot and heavy. He saw a new man.

He felt regretful joy. He knew that he would feel sorrow when the dreadful

funeral occurred. To witness his beautiful and pleasant wife in such a horrid

position would be terrible. Death of a loved one can never be good. He did not

want to paint a portrait of her at her death bed. However, he removed himself from

that bitter time.

It was selfish but he could live on his own accord. There would be no one to

answer for during those coming years; he would experience “freedom”. There

would be no commitment for blind allegiance that men and women believe they

have a right to impose upon each other. Who is to say whether it is good or bad but

there is something to question in the lifestyle in which society imposed on

marriage. At the time there was a sense of true liberation. There was no lying to the

fact that he loved her most of the time. On many occasions he did not. Who cares?

What is love? Shouldn’t it include to feel alive. That is a strong emotion maybe

even greater than love itself.

"I’m released!" He kept thinking.

Cynthia was nearby behind the closed door with her lips to the keyhold, asking for

entrance. "Miller, open the door! Please; open the door--you will get sick. What is

going on, Miller? C’mon open the door."

"Leave me alone. I am fine." No; he was smoking tobacco through that open

window.

He pondered about the upcoming days. All the days of the seasons. Hot and

cold days, times with perfect weather. And all those typical and new sorts of days

that he would be independent. He hoped that life would be long and amazing. 

He decided to open the door and share life with friends and family. There was a

sense of confidence. An unsure feeling of accomplishment. He shook his brother’s

hand. They went down the stairs. His environment was calm. Miller was relieved.

Through the roller coaster of emotions, he believed he was done with that journey.

He was exhausted. 

There was a sound of the front door opening. It was his wife who entered, a

little tired, calmly carrying her stuff. She was slightly disheveled and was in her

work attire. She had been far from the scene of the accident and did not even know

there had been one. She was bewildered by the shock in the house. She stood

amazed at Mr. Miller’s face.

When the ambulance arrived, they said he had a stroke.