"Shadows and Dust" - A collection of short stories

A swift coolness caresses the back of my neck as I step through my chlorophyll-green apartment door, the smell of clean, cold rain permeating the senses. I grip my jacket closely, the bitter longings of a dying winter still prevalent as a storm approaches; the unsure fickleness of an April morning in a reclaimed desert. Greening grasses and blooming tulips shudder and wither, caught unawares in the teeth of a bipolar, uncaring mother.

Faint patters of rain begin to gently hum as they collide with the sheet metal carports that line the dilapidated, pothole-ridden streets of the complex, acoustically pleasing to my tired ears, though the moment is shattered as a metal beast flies overhead, ignorantly defying the laws of nature. I keep my head low, my face hidden beneath the brim of my hat, content to keep the rainwater from my eyes.

As I slowly ramble toward my destination, the chilling gale picks up at my back and whips my long hair around into my face like a tattered flag, licking at my rapidly cooling cheeks. It is uncomfortable, though I do not mind -- my thoughts are elsewhere.

The rain begins to build and strike as I come to and open my mailbox, the rusty and uneven hinges screeching open as I stare into the advertisement-packed little nook. With a depressing sigh, I reach into the leaking orifice and retrieve that which I still naively think is intended for me: supermarket coupons, the shrill desperation of automobile salesmen, and an endless amount of credit card applications.

Yea, they really love me.

Tossing the rubbish into a near garbage bin overflowing with similar pilings, I am about to walk away when I notice a letter protruding from the rest, handwritten and curiously addressed to me. I return to the bin and retrieve the missive, my incredulity without bounds. I look to the return address, but the steady fall of rainwater had smeared it. Passing it off as a mistake, a misdirected notice, I nonchalantly tuck the letter into the inner pocket of my jacket and begin the trek home.

Another airplane passes overhead, this one drawing my attention with it’s resounding thunder-motor like an old car missing it’s muffler. I gaze up to the brumous heavens, the faint outline of the props fading into the high fog, giving only a brief glimpse as it passes over into a lightning-swept sky.

The wind is coming headlong now, the sting of cold making my nose prickle as the rain begins to fall horizontally, spattering me in my drawn face. Sensing the worst of it is about to begin, I quicken my lazy steps and return to my apartment, sliding underneath the awning to keep me sheltered from the storm.

I watch the clouds lower and darken even further as they collide with the near mountainside -- chaos boiling in the stratosphere, gods hammering upon their anvils and the resulting sparks showering down upon us mortals below.

It was going to be a long, dark night.

Content with my natural showgirl, I reach into the folds of my jacket and retrieve the letter, the once sturdy construction of the security envelope now but a flaccid piece of textile, soaked through by the worldwide waterfall. I look again to the smudged return address --completely unreadable. Glancing to the postmark, however, I could make out the distinct outline of a pine tree within a red circle: Westfir, Washington.

My home town.

Unable to open the letter without tearing right through the bedewed paper, I instead opt to shred it down it’s side, unsheathing the damp paper within and letting the envelope drop down into my porch and sink to the bottom of a puddle. My brows knit when I open the letter, confused by what had just transpired.

The page was blank. No name, no message, not even a spot of ink to be seen. Completely lacuna.

Lightning struck again, this time falling upon the distant great lake to the west, echoing white-light spraying across the mountainside like the sudden flick of a flashlight, then fading again into black.

Yes. It was going to be a long, dark night.

Very nice indeed. I love your choice of words and the images you paint are very vivid. My favorite was The Fifty Year Fairytale. Nice work.

Much obliged.

Her breathing was short, stuttered, and labored. The blankets over her broken body shuddered with each and every breath, cloaking the damage beneath with a misguiding whiteness. The slow and steady beat of her heart monitor drove into my mind, each and every beep a reminder of that fated morning.

“Look...at me.”

She was awake. Her voice was faint, pleading in it’s softness. I dared not look at her face, the burns and the bandages too much to bear.

“Look at me,” she repeated. “You...owe me...that much.”

I glanced over to the window and watched the rain patter upon the blinded panes, casting flowing shadows upon the floor below, trying to ignore the path that lay ahead of me.

She moved, turning her head ever so slightly toward me. I could feel her eyes upon my face, like a ghost you know is there but you refuse to recognize.

“I...know I have done...some...bad things in my life....”

“In the past,” I interrupted. “What’s done is done. No need to dwell on it.”

I dared look. Her face was completely bandaged, save her eyes, which were as blue as the day we first met...before the bad times.

“Jeremiah.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Please...before it...is time.”

“No, don’t....” I could not bring myself to say it. “You’re going to be fine. Everything...is going to be fine.”

She smiled from beneath the gauze. “We have this life...all wrong, Jeremiah. Forgiveness should be...a part of who...we are, not...a parting gift to the...dead or dying.”

“Rachael, I....” I started, but was silenced by a wrapped hand to my face.

“No need, my love.” Her eyes locked upon mine. “No need.”

Just then, when within her eyes I could see the very breadth of the life we once had together, everything faded away. The bandages, the hospital, the fresh memory of the crash; the shredding of steel and shattering of glass upon the freeway – everything passed on, leaving only me and her, alone, in a world all our own.

I took her hand from my face and cradled it gently in my hands, careful not to squeeze to hard. It felt cold to the touch, her broken heart too weak to keep them warm. I fought the tears, bit the inside of my cheek, hoping the pain would keep reality at bay.

“Make me...a promise, Jeremiah,” Rachael said, her eyes never leaving mine. “Not just...words, not just...pretense, but what the...word truly means: a promise.”

I nodded. What else could I do? If it would please her, I would take it all back. All she had to do was ask, and I would take it all back. The lies, the mistakes, the crash...everything.

“I...would say don’t...forget, but...eventually it will...happen. Your grandchildren...won’t know me...and I’ll truly...be gone.”

I pulled my eyes away. This was too much. I wanted to run, but her hand, even though it was in mine, was keeping me there.

“I...would say live on...but I know you. You...will never be...the same after...today. And for that...I am...so sorry.”

I bit my cheek again, though it did not seem to help.

“Now...look at me,” Rachael said again, but this time I could not deny her and did as told. “Promise me...swear to me...by all that ever...mattered in this life...that you...my love...will walk out...of this room in...a few minutes...and....”

Her eyes flickered in simultaneity with her heart monitor, just for a moment, but they came back and her hand squeezed mine.

“Promise me,” she whispered lightly, “that you won’t blame yourself.”

“I’m not sure I can do that.”

I spoke the truth this time. I was driving the car and walked away from the crash without a scratch on me. Had I only slowed down when she told me to. Had I only taken the road by our old house instead of the freeway to avoid the bad memories. Had I only not stopped for that cup of coffee in the morning.

Had that butterfly only not beat it’s wings.

Rachael’s eyes flickered again, this time a little longer than before, but she steeled her focus and intently looked at me, piercing into my very being, leaving no more excuses to shield myself with.

“I...am ready.” Rachael gave her last bit of energy to force one last smile, the sweetest smile of hers I had ever seen. “I just...want you to...be ready too.”

I grit my teeth, no longer able to keep the weeping at bay. I loved her, had always loved her, and now that I realized it, realized all the wrongs I had committed against her, I was losing her, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I was too late.

“Jeremiah...my love.” Her grip lessened. “Be ready.”

One last breath drew into her lungs, like the scared sob of a child, and then exhaled. She pulled her beautiful eyes closed and her head slumped toward me as she let go, slipping away into the great unknown. Her motionless hand still in mine, me being unable to let go, I then knew I was truly alone in this world.

And she was right: I would never be the same.