A Special Place

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


The young woman sat on the rock, alone.  She’d first come to the mountain in the arms of her mother, who’d sung the song she would always associate with this place.

She’d come here as a teen, after her parents divorced.  After her mother had died of cancer.  She’d come here with high school friends. “Why do we have to go so early?” they’d grumbled.

“We just do, OK?”

 She’d brought Roy here, after they were married; “This has always been my very special time and place,” she’d said.

“Wonderful,” he’d replied.  “Let’s go find some coffee.”

After the delivery that had almost killed her, she’d given the newborn Jenny to her sister for a day and come here alone.  “I just need to recharge my batteries,” she’d said.

She’s brought the letter here, the dreaded letter signed by the President and delivered by the stricken Army chaplain.  By the dawn’s early light, he’d folded it into a paper airplane and watched the upslope wind carry it away.

This morning she was bearing the tiny urn containing her Jenny, dead of leukemia at three.  It had taken her a month to get away from concerned relatives and weepy friends and neighbors bearing casseroles.

It was a blustery morning, which was good.  She whispered “Goodbye, Sweetest,” and hurled the pitiable gray remnants of human beauty and promise high into the air.  The mountain wind embraced them.  She tossed the empty urn downslope into the scrub.

She returned to the rock and sat, facing east. In a moment day would break, and she would sing, through ragged sobs, the song she’d learned in her mother’s arms.  The song that, at this place, at this early hour, had always made things better.

She would sing, “Here Comes the Sun.”


Submitted: June 09, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Roger Barry. All rights reserved.

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