We Will Have Our Time: Horror Flash Fiction

 

He had not been expecting a letter. He had written so many to her, and maybe in the beginning he had hoped for a response, even a form letter, but there was nothing. Well, she was busy; already 15 films and countless television appearances on her resume, and she had made it to the highest pinnacle of the A-list. She must have millions of fans, all writing to tell her how beautiful she was, how talented, how entrancing.

And yet, even though his letters had so much competition, he knew they would stand out to her; they had an undeniable connection, the two of them. He could feel it the very first time he saw her, in a scene from her first big movie. It was like she was looking right at him, speaking only to him, not to the so-called leading man who would only abandon her, both in the movie and later, in real life. She had looked so gorgeous and innocent, standing on a hilltop overlooking the ocean, her pale skin luminescent and her cascade of strawberry-blonde curls limned in the golden light of the setting sun. It was the perfect movie setting, but he knew they would one day be back at that very same place in the real world, together. We will have our time, he knew, and he signed all of his letters to her with this assurance.

It must bring her comfort to know that, he thought, because she had been having some trying times, lately: the breakup of her marriage to that Hollywood “golden boy”, the loss of the baby, the press hounding her for all of the intimate details of her life. He ached to provide a safe harbor for her, and he knew as soon as he received the long-awaited sign from her, he would be ready to take her to that hilltop overlooking the sea, where the sun was golden at sunset and the breeze blew gently. He would take her in his embrace and they would fall together, dropping through the welcoming water into the next world, where they would be together forever in love and happiness. He had related this wonderful scene to her in detail in the last several letters.

He looked around his dingy apartment, which was already beginning to fade from view, to be replaced with the lovely green grass, the gentle, salt-scented wind, her shining hair and sparkling eyes, the feel of her slender, warm arms encircling his waist as they stepped into eternity together…the sign from her had come; he was holding it in his hands even now. He fancied he smelled a faint scent of her perfume on the paper. Because of all the unwanted attention, she had chosen to disguise the letter as being from a law firm, but her name leaped from the page to his eyes immediately. The words “cease and desist” and “stalking” tumbled before his sight; they were meaningless jargon to cover her true message from the prying eyes that were everywhere. This was the sign!

He ran excitedly to gather his things for the trip: The street address of her home, complete with directions and satellite and street images, all provided by the trusty internet. He had also obtained her itinerary and was able to work out her schedule, as well as the information he needed about her security detail. He didn’t want their first meeting to be disturbed. He imagined how she would look, stunned at first, perhaps, that her message had brought him so far so quickly, then relief and delight would wash across her lovely face as she realized that she was finally safe and complete, with him.

We will have our time, he thought, finally!

image credit: https://www.pexels.com/photo/black-and-gray-rocks-and-body-of-water-3084567/

The Jump - a Short Story

As I hit the sky, the plane dwindles quickly above and behind me. I drink in the vast, eternal blue, the wisps of white clouds, the good green earth below. I spread my arms to slow my descent, determined to enjoy my period of free fall, that amazing liberty of levitation that drives me to jump again and again. I feel immortal, ethereal, divine. Even as I enjoy my flight over the landscape, however, I am keeping careful track of my descent and its timing. Some daredevils might play chicken with their lives, but I don't need that kind of adrenaline spike. Much as I enjoy free fall, I won't delay opening my chute and not live to jump again. In fact, it is time to open the chute now.

Now.

The sky blue above me, the earth green below me; the wind lofting me up and singing my passage down. I reach over my left breast with my right hand, feel the handle to pull; the ripcord that will release my chute. As my hand closes around the rubber-padded plastic of the handle, I notice a red barn on the ground below. The barn is in good repair, with fresh red paint and gleaming white trim. I smile when I observe the weather vane perched atop the peaked roof. I'm not close enough yet to see the decorative finial atop the vane, but I imagine it is probably a rooster.

Now...

My hand clasps the handle of the ripcord which will release my chute, and I give it a good, swift, yank; a decisive movement that I have rehearsed and performed many times. The silken parachute, packed tightly, intricately, expertly, slips out of its cocoon to unfurl gracefully into a billowing cloud above me; my own personal cloud, which will bear me gently back to my home on the ground.

I wait for the familiar jerk of my harness as the chute abruptly slows my descent, but it doesn't come. The silk has not unfurled gracefully above me. My personal cloud has not appeared to bear me to safety.

Now.

I am stunned. Only for a second. Two seconds. In that time, I have fallen another 100 feet.

Now the red barn is larger. I notice that the barn has a loft, which gapes, dark and inviting with the promise of a warm burrow of soft, sweet-smelling hay. When I was young, I used to play in the hayloft of Mr. Godfrey's barn, and one day I was stung by a hornet. It hurt like bejeezus and swelled up for a couple of days. I would give anything to be back there now...

...Now, I glance at my right hand, still clutching the rubber-padded plastic handle with the useless ripcord trailing in the wake of my descent. I release my grasp, because I am going to use that hand to pull the release on my backup chute. I have never needed my backup chute before, but I have trained thoroughly on that, as well. Now, as the ground rises far too quickly and the red barn begins to loom large in my field of view, I reach to pull the release on my backup chute.

The sun is bright in the blue sky. The red barn blazes vibrantly in the lush and verdant landscape. The scent of clover wafts to me from below. The cool wind against my face freezes the panic sweat on my brow. The rush of wind in my ears seems to recede as I am enveloped in stillness, taking in every detail even as I plummet toward the grass below. The world is achingly beautiful.

Now, my hand engages the release for the backup chute, and it does emerge, slipping from its pack, up and away from me, where it spreads almost languidly into a silken bower above my head. I feel the long-sought yank of the harness as the parachute catches a full breath of air and tugs at me, attempting to keep me from harm, but I have fallen too far, too fast, and I will die today.

Now, in my last moment of life, I see clearly the weather vane on top of the red barn and the figure that surmounts it.

It is a horse.

Image credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/clouds-sky-day-blue-sky-cloudy-88523/