accident, birth, death, eternity, Flash Fiction, grief, hope, life, loss, love, scribblers, the beginning, the end, Writing Prompts, Year-end Competition
This weekend, I’m delighted to share with you the top two stories of the Year-end Special Competition at the Flash Fiction Group I host on Scribblers.
The prompt was The End and The Beginning, with a 1000 word limit.
Love is Forever by Ron A. Sewell
Marc Chagall, Song of Songs III
Nervous, Rachel clutched her flowers tight to her body. Her face glowed as she stepped with dignity through the doors into the church. From the stained glass windows, a rainbow of colour lit her white bouquet.
When she arrived at David’s side, she gave her bouquet to her father. Together, she and David emanated happiness. Their marriage had been inescapable from the time they first met. They were inseparable. Their love for one another radiated like the sun warming the earth.
Before their wedding day, they asked the vicar not to include the words ‘until death do us part.’ When asked why both replied, “We’re soul-mates. We know true love lives on even when these frail bodies turn to dust.”
At their reception venue, the room vibrated with talk as children ran between the tables. When Rachel and David arrived, clapping spread around the room. There was the scraping of chairs as guests stood and clapped even louder. Hand in hand, the perfect couple made their way to the head table. They sat in front of a bouquet of white roses. After a few moments, the toastmaster rose from his chair and everyone else sat down.
As their guests prepared to leave, the newly weds made tracks through a blizzard of confetti to their car. With a quick wave, they drove towards the airport.
Sliding on a rain-soaked surface, the HGV jack-knifed and slammed into their car. The impact appeared to take forever. As the car crumpled, lights swirled, rose and fell and the din of the tearing metal roared in their ears. The seatbelt tugged Rachel’s chest and the airbag struck her face. When everything stopped, a strange silence cloaked her.
Sirens screamed, came close and stopped. Her right hand reached out for David, she could not find him. Harsh noises filled her ears. People talked as if she were no longer there. Pain kept her brain active and then everything went white.
Rachel lay in the curtained cubical, her eyes staring at the tiled ceiling. From somewhere she heard crying. A nurse inserted a drip and fitted an oxygen mask.
Then warmth of David’s hand gave her strength. Side by side, they stood in the background and watched the medical team at work.
The doctor turned to Rachel’s parents. “We can save the child but there is nothing more we can do for your daughter.” Words constructed of simple letters cut through her parents’ grief.
David squeezed her hand. “Our baby will be fine.”
Her eyes met his. “We were so happy. Why?” She kissed his cheek. “It was our time but wherever we go from here, we go together.”
With tears in his eyes, Rachel’s father signed the proffered forms. A nurse guided the trolley while another controlled the life support machine. In seconds, Rachel disappeared through the swing doors.
Twenty minutes elapsed before the surgeon appeared. “Not exactly protocol but would you like to say goodbye to Rachel and hello to your granddaughter.”
Rachel’s dad slipped his arm around his wife’s waist as they entered the operating theatre.
Covered in a green plastic sheet, they both sobbed for their sleeping daughter. Her father nodded to the doctor who switched off the life support.
Her mother shuffled to the nearby incubator and sobbed even more as she remembered Rachel’s birth.
“She beautiful,” said the nurse.
Mum and dad watched as tiny fingers clenched and unclenched. Free of the womb her legs kicked.
She glanced at the nurse. “She’s my granddaughter. I’ll never forget Rachel but she’s at peace and she’s given me the greatest gift she ever could.”
“Will you call her Rachel?” asked the nurse.
“No. There’s only one Rachel.” She turned to her husband. “What will we call her?”
“Lucy. It’s lucky spelt badly.”
Rachel grasped David’s hand as they strolled along a leaf-covered lane. “Death has not parted us. Our future’s where no clouds block the warmth of the sun. A place where one soul can whisper to another. Where togetherness means forever. This is not the end but another beginning.”
Ron A. Sewell is a regular contributor to the Flash Fiction thread at Scribblers.
Ron Sewell is a no nonsense type of person, fool around with someone else but not with him. He does not suffer fools, at all. What you see is what you get. He writes Adult boy’s own tales as well as shorts. He regularly contributes to Scribblers flash fiction and many of his short stories are published. His novels focus on his experience and travels while a member of the Royal Navy. Hence, it is an old-fashioned, carefully constructed piece of adventure with the right dose of suspense and unexpected twists.
He can be found on WordPress, Linkedin and his books are on Amazon.
If you wish to take a look at the other great stories of the Year-End Special, here’s the link to the thread:
Or better still, come and join our bi-monthly Flash Fiction thread at Scribblers. Newcomers are always welcome. 🙂
D. Wallace Peach said:
Thanks for sharing Ron’s poignant story. Congrats to him on the win. 🙂
Thank you very much, Diana. 🙂
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Thank you for your kind words.
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