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A Scream and a Prayer

November 6, 2011

NOTE: Today’s post is going to be quite short – and followed by a piece of flash fiction that I wrote for the Writer’s Union of Canada’s ‘Postcard’ short story competition earlier this year (less than 250 words so it would fit on the back of a postcard; my story didn’t win, place, or show in the contest, but it was fun to write) – because I’m really not supposed to be typing at all. 

One of the disadvantages of the damnable ‘aging process’ is that with every year that goes by, various body parts begin to wear down or wear out.  This week it’s my right wrist (I’ve pretty much managed to do damage to most of the bits on my left – dominant – side, so I shouldn’t be surprised to now be working my way down the other).  I admit to occasionally experiencing niggling bits of discomfort in my wrist when I spend too much time on the computer (I blame the scrolling roller in the centre of the mouse, which I tend to overuse), but a day of rest and my magnetic bracelet generally relieve the problem.  However, this past week I engaged in something of a three-day writing marathon (to meet a contest deadline) and I clearly overdid it.  As a result, I’ve been forced to wear a wrist brace for the past few days and am only supposed to take it off occasionally to ‘exercise’ my hand and wrist (and NOT by using the computer!).  It’s definitely getting better, but I don’t want to take the risk of typing for too long today. (On the ‘up’ side, I am catching up on a lot of reading!)

I hope you enjoy the story (‘A Scream and a Prayer’) and I promise that next week I’ll be back to writing about life on … the other side of 55.

A Scream and a Prayer

© Margo Karolyi, 2011 All Rights Reserved

ScreamJenny felt only a slight bump before the car careened out of control. It veered wildly, tipped on its side, and pinned her against the restraints. Mercifully, they held her in place.  Terrified screams echoed in her ears.

Oh, God we’re going to die!

“Sarahhhhh.” Jenny shrieked her daughter’s name.  Fighting the forces pressing her back against the seat, she flung her arm out to the side. Sarah’s much smaller hand caught and gripped hers.

“Mom, it’s okay. Just hang on.”

She did.

They rolled over once, twice, three times.  Sky, ground, trees, clouds rushed past in a riotous kaleidoscope of shapes and colours. Nausea and tears threatened.  They couldn’t possibly survive the tumultuous violence assaulting them.  But Jenny didn’t want to die – didn’t want Sarah to die – so even though she didn’t believe in God, she closed her eyes and prayed.

“Let us walk away from this. Please.”

The car slowed, shuddered once, stopped.  Sarah’s soft voice murmured urgently in her ear. “Mom? Mom! We’ve got to get out. Unbuckle your seatbelt.”

Jenny opened her eyes and met Sarah’s anxious gaze.  She reached out, caressed her daughter’s cheek. “You’re alive.” 

“Of course I am, Mom. Come on. We have to go.”

Disoriented and confused, Jenny looked around. “Go where?”

A voice resonated through the cacophony of noise and confusion surrounding them, answering her question.  Answering her prayer.

“Please exit to the left, ladies and gentlemen. And thank you for riding The Screamer.”

 

How Far Can You Go

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5 Comments
  1. November 6, 2011 7:49 pm

    Ooohh, that’s a good one!

  2. November 6, 2011 4:03 pm

    So sorry your wrist is giving you trouble. Take care.
    Thank you for the story. I wasn’t expecting the ending. 🙂

    • November 6, 2011 4:33 pm

      Age has its challenges. The brace certainly helps! Glad you enjoyed the story – I like surprise endings.

      Margo

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