Reflection

Remembering Mom on Mother's Day

Nella Badalamente nee Nelli, 1903 - 2005

The Book of the Dead

What goes through a child’s mind walkwobbling towards an entrancing new adventure? Out of sight for the blink of an eye. Lost forever.

Elizabeth’s husband thought that taking a vacation in an exotic place like Egypt would help her recover from the loss of their child. He knew she would never get over it. People don’t get over things like that. Elizabeth was grateful for Brian’s caring and glad for his strength. She hadn’t been able to deal with the loss of Molly. Brian had to do everything. He was a rock. Sometimes she hated him for it.

Elizabeth, frowning, looked from the texts to her guide, Ini-Herit. “The Book of the Dead?”

“Yes. It contained the funerary texts that were meant to help the deceased pass through the dangers of the Underworld and be reborn into a new life,” he said.

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Read the story about Elizabeth coming to grips with the loss of her child in The Book of the Dead.

Love is Forever

She found Khalid on the steps of the Winter Palace Hotel talking with a young woman. When he saw Sandra approaching he leaned over and said something to the woman and she turned and went into the hotel. Khalid reached out to take Sandra’s hand as she climbed the steps to where he was standing, leaning nonchalantly against a pillar.

Sandra let him kiss her hand and looked into his face as he brought his head up. His green eyes caught the sun. He had a puzzled smile on his handsome face.

“I thought you were leaving,” he said.

“I had to find you. To say goodbye.” She was still holding his hand and searching his face. Looking for something besides the detachment in his gaze.

“I have something for you,” he said, reaching in the pocket of his galabea.

“Khalid…” Sandra hesitated. Her mind replayed last night’s caresses, his strong arms, the feel of his breath on her neck.

Khalid brought out a small, white box and handed it to her, making a small bow as he did.

Sandra continued searching Khalid’s eyes for a minute before she opened the box. It contained a gold cartouche and chain. She’d seen similar ones in the hotel gift shop. The cartouche was inscribed with hieroglyphics.

Sandra looked up at Khalid. “What does it say?” she asked.

“Love is forever,” he said.

Sandra studied the cartouche.

“I can give it to you for sixty pounds,” Khalid said. “Because it will make me happy for you to have it.”

Sandra looked out across the street and beyond to where graceful feluccas sailed the Nile. She turned back to Khalid.

“I’ll give you forty,” Sandra said.

“You are taking food from my table,” Khalid said, as he pocketed the notes.

Getting Personal

I scratched my head and thought about what to write in the Guest Book. I’d known KT for close to 20 years. I scanned through the obit and visitor entries. The usual mix of prayers and memories. I wanted something more personal, so I wrote, “Hey KT, you are AWOL. WAYN? XOXO,” and clicked submit.

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Very short fiction, variously known as flash fiction, micro fiction, or nano fiction, among other things, is a kind of genre all its own. The form challenges the writer to capture the essence of a story in the minimum number of words possible. Pen Pricks carries the challenge one step further, requiring its authors to write a complete story in exactly 55 words.

Signs of Spring

It snowed, then hailed, an hour after I took this picture of tulips basking in the sun. Ah spring.

The Lion and the Sun

Captain Rappe raised his finger to his lips, “Shh.” He turned to move away and suddenly there was a tremendous flash of fire, no sound, just a blast wave moving over me. I fell to my knees; stunned. There was fluid running down my hair into my face. I ran my hand over my face and looked at it. It was too dark to see it, but it felt heavy and slick. Then there was another flash and kneeling there on all fours I saw in the brief illumination Captain Rappe’s face looking up at me. And as I stared at it, the eyes rolled back, the mouth fell open, and then the face began to fall apart. I reached down and tried to keep the pieces together, but my hands were covered in goo; and eyeballs, the nose, ears, and pieces of flesh slipped from my hands. I screamed “Medic!”

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Daniel Cantantenero is a field agent for an intelligence agency that operates as a secret extension of the CIA. As a Special Forces officer in Vietnam, he experienced some of the most brutal episodes of that conflict, sustaining serious physical wounds, and lasting mental ones. The excerpt above is a dream sequence from my novel, The Lion and the Sun.