Flash Fiction Entries

Sandy

The September setting sun turned the waters of the mouth of the river into a crooked finger of gold. The desolation in back of Ann lay in stark contrast to the river’s peace and beauty.

“Come on, Ann. We don’t have time to enjoy the scenery.” John shrugged his shoulders and picked his way through the broken boards and torn shingles. Whistling first, he called to Sandy.

“Here, girl. Come on, Sandy. I know you’re here somewhere.”

The hurricane had hit during the night. Howling winds and slashing rain came onto the shores of the small community without warning when the storm suddenly turned eastward. Ann and John awoke to a tree limb crashing through their bedroom window, and Sandy, their golden retriever, disoriented, ran in the opposite direction and out the doggy door in the kitchen.

They both pulled on whatever clothes were handy and tried to search with flashlights in the heavy downpour. They yelled for her until their voices were hoarse, but the noise from the storm made calling to Sandy impossible. With tears streaming down her face, Ann helped John board up the broken window. They waited for light.

In the morning, the coastal town they shared with less than a hundred others looked broken and beaten. Trees were down, roofs blown off, metal twisted and wood splintered. After searching all day, Ann sat on a cinder block and laid her head on her folded arms. The dank smell of the storm found the back of her throat and stuck there.

“Hey, Ann. Look who I found.”

Ann looked up and cried out, gagging through her constricted throat. Sandy came running and was licking away Ann’s tears before she could stand.

John had come through, again, as she knew he would.