Flash Fiction: Sinkhole Christmas

Flash Fiction: Sinkhole Christmas

I seen my share of disasters. Monsoons, flash floods… Once a twister slammed into the center of the desert and took out a pile of rocks and a few prickly pear. Those things took place in the summer when no one was outside anyway. But I never seen nothing in the winter.

Winter’s a time to sing, dance, and eat. The whole town comes out of their houses and gathers together. Some years we wear shorts and eat snow cones; others we dress in coats ‘n scarves and pretend our sixty degrees is closer to twenty like our northern friends get. Either way, we’re out there, shaking hands, exchanging smiles, and spreading cheer all while standing in the soft green of our ryegrass lawns.

A week or two ago, Bobby and I drank our warm hot chocolate while wearing light sweaters. We stood next to Old Man Ezra while the community choir sang O Come All Ye Faithful and Rudolph for the town’s tree-lighting ceremony. People ‘round us ate iced cookies and children ran in circles around the ten-foot tall tree set in the park’s middle. Bobby was hummin’ a few bars of Jingle Bells along with the choir when the ground below our feet moaned and spat dirt. Parents lunged for children, and the rest of us lunged for them. As one, the citizens of our little town took a giant step away from that Christmas tree. Good thing too, otherwise we’d a disappeared, just like that tree, into a hole with no bottom. Why, after that hole opened up, Bobby yanked up his pants and stepped cautious-like to that abyss and threw a rock in, but no thump ever came.

The whole town figured the earth swallowed Christmas and walked away, faces hung low, shoulders drooped lower. No one looked at one another. We just went home and stayed there. Answers from one person to another varied as to where that hole come from. Some said it was God threatenin’ us because of our outrageous iniquities. Some thought it was some kinda bad joke. The sheriff said it was an underground cave formed by an old river that collapsed. Lived here my entire life, never seen nor heard of a river ‘round here. But that sounded better than a threaten’ god or a bad joke. Still, I didn’t want to join in the crazy arguments everyone was having.

Two days after the tree lighting people started stepping back outside. Parents held their kids real tight, ran their errands, and went straight home again. Same thing with the old folks. No one shook hands. No one smiled. No one said Merry Christmas. Now, Bobby and me live right in the center a town and I watched hour after hour, day after day, as the merriest time of the year turned into the sourest.

“Bobby,” I said, “you had courage to throw a rock in that hole. How d’we fix our town.”

He opened his mouth and said, “They need to remember,” then stuck his pipe back in his mouth and said nothin’ more.

“Remember what?” I swung around, wishing he’d tell me, but every time I asked, all he said was they need to remember.

I started thinking about what the people in town might a forgotten. Mrs. Morris forgot to feed her cat sometimes, but that didn’t seem right. Besides, that’s one person. This was a whole town. Occasionally, Joe came from the next town over, and we’d all forget to wave goodbye, just used to seeing him, I guess. But Joe hadn’t been around for a while, so we didn’t forget to say goodbye.

Spent the better part of a day thinking about what the town coulda forgot. Thought about it while I scrubbed the floor. Thought about it as I rinsed the dishes. I even thought about it as Bobby watched a game. Nothing came to mind.

“Bobby, did I forget too?”

He scanned the house and his morose visage clouded even worse. “’Spect so.”

I investigated every part of the room. What told him that I needed to remember too was the only thing crossing my mind. Touching the print of a giant cactus, I thought it might be the dusting. I’d definitely forgotten that. I glanced out the window when I’d finished. Nothin’ changed. Clearing out the corner of the room where I sometimes piled blankets and laundry didn’t help either.

My sour mood deepened. First, the earth swallowed the community Christmas tree whole, then everyone stopped being nice to one another. Now my house was clean, but Bobby said I was forgetting something too. I turned to him, pointed my finger and said, “Bobby, you tell me right now what I need to remember. Right now!”

He shook his head, a tear dropping from his eye. Now I seen lots of things, and just a few days ago I seen a Christmas tree swallowed whole, but nothing surprised me nearly so much as seeing Bobby cry. I bent down next to him and touched his face. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I miss our happy town, the Christmas songs, friends waving in the streets, smiles. I even miss eating snow cones while we watch kids run through fake snow. Please tell me how to fix it.”

“What makes you happy?”

I thought about the question Bobby asked, and I decided Christmas made me happy. Since the tree disappeared none of the town had decorated. Had we forgotten Christmas?

Pulling out our boxes of decorations, I hung the lights and set up a tree. Stockings and mistletoe hung from mantle and ceiling. I even made Santa songs play from my doorbell. Still, nothing changed. I looked at the totes, stacked empty in the corner, and wondered if my last decoration, stored in the shed, would make any difference at all. Grumbling over the work, I carried the large pieces of cut wood from the garage to the front grass. Sweat gathered on my forehead, and I turned away from the low-hanging sun to rest for a mite. Joe and Sarah perched on my picket fence, gawking at my yard. Ignoring them, I latched a couple more pieces together, then Sue Ellen called my name. I raised my head to see more gathered. Some smiled, others waved. I wondered. As I put the last piece in place, I heard the voices of the community choir begin singing Silent Night. Bobby came out, put his arm around me, and led me to the street where we joined the town.

My eyes burned with tears of joy. I remembered. The town remembered. The sun set as we swayed and sang and smiled. Tiny lights and the stars in the sky, one brighter than them all, lit that last decoration. In a season lit by God, we finally remembered His Son.

Learn more about me and download your free copy of Sometimes a Bird Has to Fly by visiting my website: kameomonson.com
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Flash Fiction: YouTube Escape

The pace of the car matched the pace of Kara’s racing heart. How did she get into this mess? With another jolting shake of her head, a bobby pin fell to the floor. Now to find it. With arms handcuffed behind her, she twisted her body, and her head curved deeper into the trunk. The phrase ‘needle in a haystack’ entered her mind. Her finger brushed against the edge of the bobby pin, and it slid further away. Dang-it. Willing herself to search more gently, she patted the floor.

Minutes.

Minutes had passed, and Kara had no idea where they were taking her. Not far. Maybe far. The farming community lay only miles away from the city, that’s why smugglers liked it. She knew better than to explore their hideaway, but she couldn’t help herself. There was no question that they’d see the smoke from the fire she’d started. If she were a guy, she’d be dead. Best guess now, she’d be sold.

Her middle finger tightened around the bobby pin. Shallow breaths calmed her shaky hand, ensuring she wouldn’t drop it. Stripping the plastic from the tips with her teeth, she straightened the pin, trying to remember the training she’d received via YouTube. As she worked to place the bobby pin in the latch at the end of the handcuff, the shaking returned, and she fought harder to control her gelatinous fingers. The pain emanating from her head didn’t help.

The bobby pin slid into the opening. Kara pulled. Nothing happened. Don’t hyperventilate. Breathe. She sifted through the muddled thoughts in her mind. Wrong method—that way used a snap barrette. Reaching toward the cuffs with the bobby pin again, she pushed it into the keyhole, the pin telling her when it was on top of the button. She pushed, and the cuff popped open. Kara gasped as she removed the duct tape from her lips.

Scooting toward the trunk door, she searched for the glowing emergency latch. Nothing. Think. Think! Kara rolled to her belly and dug her fingernails into the seam of the carpeting. Where is it? Where is it? Her heart throbbed within her chest, echoing in her ears.

A cable ran under her fingers, and tears cascaded down her cheeks. Please, God. Kara wrapped her hands around the cable and yanked it as hard as she could toward the front of the car. The trunk popped open, and she flung herself toward it, hoping to keep it from getting caught by a gust of wind. Too late.

The trunk flew open, and Kara faced the cold, hard truth. No other cars drove on the road. No immediate rescuer waited outside the trunk. No one would help her.
The car slowed. Kara’s heart rate doubled. ‘Jump. Jump before they stop. Jump.’ Her mind willed her body to move, but her body refused. ‘Jump,’ her mind whispered again.

I can’t.

‘JUMP!’

Kara threw herself from the trunk and forced herself into a roll. She crashed onto the rough pavement, her shoulder and hip crying in agony. Get up! She scrambled to the edge of the road and to her feet.

Run.

Her legs carried her swifter than a roadrunner escaping a coyote. The sound of a bullet, then another, cracked behind her. Run. Zig. Now Zag. Would they follow her? No way to know. Darkness engulfed her, and piercing pain erupted over her body as she stumbled. Cactus. Her motion slowed but never stopped. Ducking around the cholla, she tried to run again.

Needles dug deeper into her skin, but she didn’t dare touch any of the oversized burrs. That would only make it worse. Did Mike call the police yet? Was Mike still alive? Tears streamed down her dirt-coated cheeks as blood spotted her face, and screams burst from her lips. Why did she start that fire? What enticed her to explore that hideaway? Only some kind of stupid would call it an adventure.

Specs of light lit the distant horizon. A road? A house? Kara didn’t know, but she ran faster—screamed louder.

“Help me!”

Nothing.

“Please, help me!”

Silence.

A house. Kara flung her sweat-soaked back against the door, screaming for help. Raising her bloodied hands to the door, she pounded her tender palms against the wood. A coyote howled.

“Someone there?” An older woman’s voice called from beyond the door, colored by a heavy accent.

“P-please help me.”

The door cracked open, and a woman’s heavily wrinkled face shone with concern as she gasped and flung the door wider, leading Kara inside. “Let me get a comb. We’ll get those spines out of you. What’re you doing in the desert at night?”
Kara stumbled into the house. “Escaping … kidnapped.” Her breathing burned her lungs as she blew dust back into the air. “Call the police.”

“Police? Here? You don’t want the police. You want the embassy; this is Mexico.”

“But you’re speaking English.”

“So are you.”

Kara’s shoulders slumped as her head dropped warily toward her swollen hands, only for her to realize they hurt too much to cradle her face. Instead, tears escaped her eyelids freely, eroding the dirt from her cheeks. “Where is it?”

“Not far.”

“Take me now, please.”

“Tomorrow.”

Tremors racked Kara’s body, and she jerked her head back and forth. “Now.”

“Tomorrow will be better.”

“Please, now. I don’t belong here. I want to go home. Please.”

The old woman sighed, “Let’s remove the cactus first.”

Kara nodded, and the old woman eased a comb under each bulbous cactus burr. Blood, from several welts under the burrs, pooled on her skin as the spiny balls lifted from her body one by one.

With the cactus removed and the bleeding stopped, Kara shuffled toward the gate of the Embassy. The old woman had dropped her off and driven away without notice. Guards stood at the gate, their hands sliding toward weapons as they studied her. She stopped. “Please. I’m American. I was kidnapped.”

They peered closer at her. “Name?”

“Kara Matthews.”

“ID?” Their arms stayed at the ready.

She shook her head.

One of the guards disappeared.

Moments later, Kara was ushered into a room and offered a hard plastic chair.

“We need to verify your identity. It shouldn’t take long; someone reported a Kara Matthews missing. How did you get here?”

Stress and agony relaxed as her heart began to slow for the first time in hours. “A YouTube education followed by a prickly situation.”

Never get too close to cholla. It will jump at you before you ever get a chance to touch it.

 

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