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‘Membrances

January 31, 2017 by Winter Contest 25 Comments

This story by Gary Little is a runner-up in the 2016 Winter Writing Contest. You can find all the Winter Writing Contest stories here.

Gary has been stringing letters into words for seven decades. From sermons, for a very short time, to forty years of writing low-level system software for computers, to finally writing what he wants to write. Widowed and living in Las Vegas, Gary manages to knock out short stories and irreverent gedankens on an irregular schedule.

'Membrances

She who must be obeyed nagged him. Miss Martha, his health care nurse, looked at George with determination in her eyes. “You need the walk. Besides, Charlie would want you to,” she said.

“Now that is not fair,” George answered, “using Charlie like that.”

“If it keeps your butt moving, Charlie wouldn’t mind, and you know it.” Both of them looked at each other and chuckled.

“S’pose you’re right,” George agreed, plopped his cap on his head and opened the door.

“Don’t forget a jacket,” she nagged.

He grabbed the windbreaker from another hook by the door, shrugged into it, and then stepped outside.

So he walked. Not a long walk. A short walk. Just up the sidewalk to the barbecue and picnic table under the gazebo. This had always been Charlie’s favorite place. For George, it was a nice place to sit a while and maybe enjoy a little early morning sun.

He sat this morning and looked up at the bluest blue patch of sky he had seen in a while. “Ain’t that the way it is in the desert?” He thought. “Days of dusty brown haze and then a blue like this blue.” There came a scream from above. A hawk, high up there in the sky. George thought, “Charlie would never tolerate that,” and smiled. From somewhere, there came an answering bark.

That bark sounded so familiar. The hawk screamed again. The bark answered again. “No,” George said to himself, “Charlie passed.” The scream and a bark again resounded from brick walls and apartment building. He knew that bark! “Charlie! Come here boy! Where you been?”

There he was, the same four-footed bundle of arrogance as the day he left; up on George’s lap, he jumped, licking George’s face, cleaning those ears, according to Charlie, that were never cleaned properly. The hawk screamed again and Charlie leaped off George’s lap and launched a fusillade of barking at the audacity of an intruder in his territory. Then he was off to check things out, sniff this tree, mark it, sniff that table leg, mark it. Never far from George, never out of site. George watched that ragamuffin friend of his. “Needs a good grooming. But Charlie looks like he needs a grooming even fresh from the groomer,” George said to the trees. Charlie wandered back, found the perfect spot, did a spin, and then curled up at George’s feet, his head laying on a shoe top.

George reached down and found that spot that always needed a scratch behind Charlie’s right ear. There came a huge sigh of contentment from such a small dog, and two friends sat, side by side, enjoying the morning. In the distance, a helicopter cut its way across the Las Vegas sky giving off a familiar wap, wap, wap …

Wap, wap, wap! Green flashed past beneath the chopper landing strut his boots rested on. The door gunner scanned the jungle below. “Joey. Corporal Joseph Levine,” George said to himself. One of the best M60 gunners in the unit.

George looked through the open door of the UH-1 at the chopper flying to their right. As he watched, it became a beautiful golden flower as an RPG tore into it and exploded. He ducked as shrapnel from the exploding chopper sliced his way. Joey was not as lucky. He dangled from the door gunner harness, his head no longer on his body.

Co-pilot dead, the pilot wounded, the jungle came up hard and fast. Carumpf! Trees and branches screamed and scraped passed the hull as they fell to the jungle floor, rolled once and stopped.

“Get out! Get out!” George screamed, ordering whoever was alive out of the chopper. He could smell aviation fuel.

“Move it!” He grabbed fatigues and pulled. Recognized the face. Platoon Sergeant. Eyes opened. An answer.

“Yes, Sir! You heard the Lieutenant! Move it! Get off my chopper! Move it! Move it!”

George moved to the cockpit and ignored the co-pilot. Half of him was gone. He checked the pilot. Pulse. Grabbed the harness release but it was jammed. “Damn it,” he heard the slight whoosh as fuel began to ignite.

“Sir, you need to get out of there!”

“Pilot’s alive Sarge! Wait one!” George reached and grabbed the handle of his Bowie knife.

The knife lay in a beautiful presentation box. The box top sat to the side, filigreed with gold swirls and the word Buck in raised gold letters across the top. The card read, “Use it well. DAD”.

Echoes bounced around him, and he heard Dad saying, “It’s the same brand and model I had when the 101st jumped into Normandy. Saved my life that day. Tree came up faster than I could see and I had to cut myself down. Hadn’t a done that I’d a been hanging fruit for a German patrol. Carried that knife all over France and into Germany. You take care of this one, keep a good edge on it, and it’ll take care of you.”

The Bowie knife sliced through the pilot’s harness like butter. George had him up and in a fireman’s carry and was sprinting for the clearing where his surviving men had gathered. The fuel tanks ignited. There came a rushing whoosh of air that lifted and pushed George and the pilot along and deposited them some feet away, the pilot rolling and tumbling off of George’s shoulders. George was on fire. He was rolling as his men got to them.

The platoon medic knelt by the pilot looked up at George and said, “He’s alive, Sir. Just knocked out.”

George felt a presence next to him on the bench there in that little park. Charlie raised his head, looked at the stranger, and then sat his head back down on George’s shoe top. George looked to the side and saw his dad sitting next to him.

“I lost it, Dad. Never could find it, even after the fire died down.”

“Nah. You didn’t lose it. You used it. Saved that man’s life. It’s why I gave it to you. Nuthin’ lost when you use things like that.”

George sat, alone under the gazebo, blue sky high above, a cool breeze softly sighed through the trees, rustling through the front of his windbreaker as it hung down his side. He looked up and saw the blue sky again. “Damn that’s a fine morning,” he thought.

He looked down. Charlie was gone.

He looked to the side. Dad was gone.

“No, that’s not right,” he thought. “What was it Dad always said? Gone, but not forgotten. Yes, that was it. Gone, but not forgotten. I am their immortality. I think of them and they live again with me. Hi, Dad. Hi, Charlie. My isn’t this a lovely morning.” They were with him, as he thought of them again.

George leaned back against the picnic table, there under the gazebo in that lovely little park. He looked up, saw that sky one more time and again said, “My what a gorgeous blue sky.” He closed his eyes, his chin slowly fell to his chest. He took one last breath, and the heart that had beat for eighty-eight years, that had known and given so much, slowed, and then stilled.

Filed Under: 2016 Winter Writing Contest, Drama, Hot

About Winter Contest

This story was entered in our Winter Writing Contest. You can read all the stories from the contest here.

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Comments

  1. Sue Weems says

    December 22, 2016 at 9:43 am

    Gary, I love this. That opening line made me laugh out loud.

    Reply
  2. ruth Varner says

    December 22, 2016 at 1:47 pm

    Great story, Gary! Loved the transition between past and present. Very moving, as usual. Surprised at the ending. Great job.

    Reply
  3. MC Dalton says

    December 23, 2016 at 1:27 am

    I love reading your work. This is such a special story filled with bitter sweet beauty.
    Well done Sir.

    Reply
  4. Gary Little says

    December 23, 2016 at 8:25 pm

    Sue, Ruth, and MC,

    Thank you for reading and dropping a note.

    Reply
  5. Christy Brown says

    December 28, 2016 at 11:00 am

    Great story. I really enjoyed reading your work. My only comment would be is I got a little confused when I first read the part about the presentation box. I wasn’t sure at that point if the knife was his or the pilots. I understood once I got into the next paragraph, but it did distract me a bit and take me out of the moment. Thanks so much for sharing.

    Reply
  6. Beth Ginard says

    December 28, 2016 at 12:55 pm

    I followed this story in our group and I like the final draft very much. Good job taking in all the comments and ideas. Very nicely done.

    Reply
  7. Gary Little says

    December 28, 2016 at 9:21 pm

    Christy and Beth, I do thank you for reading and commenting.

    Reply
  8. Sef says

    December 29, 2016 at 11:56 am

    Sad but nice! Well done. -Sef

    Reply
    • Gary Little says

      December 29, 2016 at 3:40 pm

      Sef,

      Thank’ye kindly mum.

      Reply
  9. Sam Black says

    December 29, 2016 at 11:25 pm

    Of course it is she who must be obeyed. Always. 🙂

    Well done all around with descriptions, dialogue, an excellent transition via the wap, waps, etc.

    Gave me goose bumps, which is a good thing here.

    I got a little choked up in spots from your writing, and from personal memories it brought up for me. Again, good things when reading a story.

    A moving tale.

    Thanks for sharing it here.

    Best of luck in the contest.

    Reply
  10. Rosemary Clarke, aka Empress of All says

    December 30, 2016 at 6:05 am

    Really well done, Gary. I agree with Christy re the box and I also had trouble following the ranks of the various folks.

    Loved the sound effects and really liked the title – ‘Membrances makes me think of membranes and the role they play in the selection process of what passes through to our brains or, in this case, memory center.

    Good job.

    Reply
  11. Gary Little says

    December 30, 2016 at 6:30 pm

    Sam and Rosemary, thank you for reading and commenting.

    Reply
  12. Kylie Hough says

    December 31, 2016 at 4:50 am

    Mister Little,

    I loved it.

    Especially your first and last lines, and how the sound of the chopper took the old timer from present to past semmlessly for the reader.

    You my friend, are a writer.

    Well done.

    My best,

    Kylie

    Reply
    • Kylie Hough says

      December 31, 2016 at 4:51 am

      Um, I’ve had three glasses of French champagne…please excuse the spelling error.

      Reply
      • Gary Little says

        December 31, 2016 at 12:15 pm

        Bless you, it is forgiven … 🙂

        Reply
  13. Georgina Ballantine says

    January 1, 2017 at 9:06 am

    Hi Gary, I loved this story. The transition between reality and memory/hallucination was seamless and I knew exactly what was happening. Some beautiful moments and tender writing, but also not shying away from the horror of war.
    A huge thumbs up from me 🙂
    Good luck in the contest!
    Georgina x

    Reply
  14. Renette Steele says

    January 4, 2017 at 2:42 am

    Hi Gary,

    Enjoyed this story very much.

    I thought when he saw the chopper he had already died, so wasn’t surprised at the ending.

    I did like how you had him slip in and out of the past.

    Good writing.

    Reply
  15. Gary Little says

    January 18, 2017 at 1:30 am

    Renette and Georgina,

    Thank you for reading and commenting. Those transitions to get them right took a lot of thought and effort.

    Reply
  16. Jeane Rhodes says

    January 31, 2017 at 6:25 pm

    Wow! You captured life-after life in so few words, creating pictures along the way. Beautiful and very moving.

    Reply
    • Gary Little says

      February 1, 2017 at 12:14 pm

      Jeane,

      Thank you for reading and leaving a comment.

      Reply
  17. Ray says

    January 31, 2017 at 10:06 pm

    Your short story captured my full attention and imagination. You are a great writer…. Thank you for sharing

    Reply
    • Gary Little says

      February 1, 2017 at 12:12 pm

      Thabk you sir. 🙂

      Reply
  18. Sakuntala Gananathan says

    February 3, 2017 at 2:48 am

    Mr Little, your story is absolutely superb. The seamless transitions took my breath away.
    His Dad’s words still ring in my ears: “”….Nah. You didn’t lose it. You used it. Saved that man’s life. It’s why I gave it to you. Nuthin’ lost when you use things like that.”
    Thank you for sharing with us.
    Sakuntala

    Reply
  19. Victor Phillips says

    March 1, 2017 at 12:27 pm

    Hi, Gary, nothing but blue skies…what a wonderful way to go! A fine story, congratulations!

    Reply

Trackbacks

  1. ‘Membrances. A short story | littlebittie says:
    January 31, 2017 at 1:29 pm

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