He woke. It was dark, but the light
of a half moon shined through the window. It
provided enough for him to distinguish the
strange bed he lay in and the equally strange
furniture. On an old dresser, he saw his cap;
on a chair, his clothes haphazardly draped.
He sat up and looked around. "Where am I?" His voice
echoed back at him in the
silent house. "They must be asleep." He whispered.
"Why am I here? I need to get home
to Stella. She'll worry."
Sim slipped from bed, dressed quickly, and pulled on
his slippers. He reasoned
they'd be more silent than his boots, which rested at
the foot of the bed. He opened the
door, cringed when it creaked, and peered into
the hall. The house was dark and silent.
He crept down the stairs, paused at the bottom, and
rushed to the door. A cold
blast of winter air greeted his lungs. He'd forgotten
his coat, but it was too late to go
back. The moonlight lit the wintery landscape.
"It must have snowed." He thought. "How
long was I asleep or drugged? Why did they
bring me here? The new snow is a problem.
They'll see my tracks."
Sim surveyed his surroundings: no lights, a snow
covered driveway into the
forest. He couldn't go that way. "The forest!" He
smiled. He was an excellent hunter and
tracker. They'd never find him. He'd find a
road and blend his tracks with those of the
cars.
He took the steps to the ground. They snapped loudly
in the cold. He froze at the
landing, looked for life in the house, saw
none, and dredged into the snow. It was deeper
than he thought. It was like wading in mud.
The wind pulled tears from his eyes. Flakes of snow -
tiny daggers - pierced his
flesh. He lowered his head into the gusts and trudged
forward into the deep drifts. His
thin pants offered little protection to the
weather, but he moved toward the protection of
the forest.
The wind was less biting under the cover of the
scented pines. Sim turned and
looked back at the house - no movement, no
lights, safe.
His hands shook with cold as he reached to move a
branch from his path. The
cold air worked its way through the skin to his bones.
In the faint light of the moon
filtering through the branches above, he saw
the tracks of a deer in the snow. "A deer
would know the safest place to hide." He
thought. "They're survivors." He knew it well.
He was well known for his hunting and shooting skills.
The deer know survival.
Sim followed the deer into deeper forest. His collar
soaked in his blood from a
scratch on his cheek, froze to his neck. He forced his
way through the undercover.
No moon shone on these snows.
"Snow! I need more snow to cover my tracks." He
thought and moved forward.
"They'll find me! Have ...to ...get ...home."
Light ahead ...No ...A highway lit by the moon. Sim
parted the branches and
stepped onto a road, a trail. He couldn't tell. No
tracks. Only the deer's where it crossed
to the other side. The trail - he decided it
was a trail - stretched into darkness in both
directions. Which way to go?
He turned right. Right was his lucky side - Stella
must be in that direction. That's
where he always found her in their bed at night
- and began to walk.
The snow grew brighter. Sim looked at the moon. It was
the same, but the snow
still brightened. He looked at it again. His shadow
lengthened. He turned instinctively.
A bright light grew in size. The ground rumbled under
his wet and frozen feet. Sim
remembered WWII. "They're going to bomb me.
They sent in the planes." He leapt for
cover just before the train, horn blowing,
whipped by, sending a torrent of snow swirling
in the air. It spun in the air as the steel
wheels screeched over the rails buried under the snow.
Sim splayed out in the snow. Fresh powder settled over
him. "So warm." He
thought, as hypothermia took it's toll. He rolled to
his right, reached out his arm,
"Stella? Stella? I'm home."
***************
"Dad? Dad?"
Sim felt a hand on his shoulder. "Stella?"
"Dad? It's me.
Sim turned his face from the snow and looked up at the
man shaking him. "Who
are you?"
"It's Cliff. Dad, you're half frozen. Let's get you
home. We've searched all
night for you."
Sim tried to shake the evil of Alzheimers from his
head. "I need to get home
to Stella."
Cliff reached down and lifted his father from the
snow. "Oh, Dad! I love you!"
"Stella?" Sim asked, confused by the man's tears.
"Dad, mom's been dead for ten years."
"Stella?"
"Yes, Dad. Mom's gone. Let's get you home."
"Dead?"
"Yes, dad."
Sim's mind cleared momentarily. He remembered holding
Stella on the floor after
her heart attack, praying for help. "OK, son. Take me
home. I want to go home."
Tears mixed with the blood on his cheek, as his son
picked his frail father up.
"Carry me home."
Michael T. Smith
heartsandhumor@gmail.com
For the record, I based my contest entry on my grandpa. His name was Simeon. My grandmother was Stella. They once found Sim wandering in the road. He was lost a quarter mile from his home on the only street that went through or town Not long after, they had to put him in a home and he died soon after a series of strokes. He was 94 when he left us. I loved that man.
P.S. I was
entered in the 24-Hour Short Story Contest this weekend. Here's the topic and
rules TODAY'S TOPIC!
~~~~~
The feet of her pajamas offered no protection as she
trudged through the deep drifts. She had been crying throughout her ordeal and,
when she lowered her head for protection from the wind, she almost missed a
light piercing through the trees. As she instinctively turned in that direction,
she heard a train whistle...
~~~~~
WORD COUNT: Stories for today's topic must not exceed
875 words. (Your story's title is *not* included in the word count. We use
MSWord's word count function to determine the final word count for submissions.)
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The rules state you do not have to use the subject
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