Weaving a Tale or Two: Death

So, it's my first "official" post since coming off my hiatus. It's been a good break. I got a lot done--not as much as I'd hoped, but it's all good.

Only meandering ...

I wanted to share this video. It really struck home for me, even brought tears to my eyes.

I'll share one of my regrets, and it's a big one.

When I was fourteen, we'd just barely moved to the Navy Base on Treasure Island in the middle of San Francisco Bay. My mom had been in Oak Knoll Naval Hospital in Oakland for nearly two weeks as they tried to figure out what was wrong with her. With the cutting edge technology (of the day), they diagnosed a brain tumor.

The evening before her surgery, I drove with my dad to the hospital. I hated seeing my mother look so bad, and the hospital creeped me out. I chose to stay out in the car while my father went inside alone. Mom survived the surgery, but there were complications due to swelling. She died early in the morning.

If I could change anything in my life, I would have gotten out of that car and gone with my dad. I'd seen her alive one more time. I'd have told her how much I loved her. One more time.

Everyone has a story.

Everyone has regrets.

What is one of yours?

It's time for the first Rach Write's Campaigner challenges. I'm not much into flash fiction, but what the heck. Rules:

Write a short story/flash fiction story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, “The door swung open” These four words will be included in the word count.

If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional), use the same beginning words and end with the words: "the door swung shut." (also included in the word count)

For those who want an even greater challenge, make your story 200 words EXACTLY!

No pressure. Right?

The door swung open.

In spite of her promise to be strong, her bottom lip quivered, and her eyes stung. She blinked and clutched the handkerchief in her hand, refusing to give into weakness. The guard nodded his encouragement. She took a slow step into the room. The casket—why did everyone try to soften the truth with euphemisms?—sat central to the room, as though holding court.

It fit that his final hours above ground would be spent in this room. The only thing missing was a throne. She could still see him as he had explained what was to come. It had seemed a great joke to her then. For a moment laughter threatened to erupt from her chest; she bit it back, appalled at the disrespect.

She focused on the coffin and advanced into the room. Alone. She’d be forever alone now. She dropped her eyes, prepared for her last farewell.

Until she saw his face and rage exploded through her. What was this travesty? The form before her was not him but a mockery of the man she’d known and loved. She spun around, her jaw tight, and stalked from the room.

The door swung shut.

I invite you to check out the other entries.