FFfAW #21: Seventy Years Gone

Photo thanks to Vanessa Rodriguez

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers #21

I’m experimenting with Deep 1st POV this week. Please let me know if it works! I used some lines from “In Flanders Fields” by John McCrae – a great WWI poem. I’m a bit over the 175-word limit this week. Sorry about that!

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In Flanders fields the poppies blow, between the crosses…whose to know?

“Grandpa, this way.”

“Dad, are you okay?

They’re both looking at me. No, Charlotte’s turned away to join the group with those thing-a-ma-bobs stuck in her ears. Grace is still looking at me. “Dad, are you okay?”

I’m fine. “I’m fine.” Reaching out to clasp her hand. “Where are we now?” Words from that famous poem still in my head. Hands at my side again.

“At a vineyard for a tasting.” Is she shouting at me?

“Charlotte’s too young for wine.”

“It’s okay, Dad. She’s not having any. But she can if she wants–this is France after all.”

Distracted by birds flying through the vineyard. The larks, still bravely singing, fly. Nothing looks the same. This trip is either too soon or much too late.

It had been Peg’s idea, but now she’s gone. Smiling brightly one day–“We should still go. It’s what she’d have wanted.”–Grace booked the trip for the three of us. Did I agree? Who cares anymore: I’m here.

It doesn’t look the same. The beaches, so clean. The landscape, healed. We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved, and now we lie. How long did Rip Van Winkle sleep? Seventy years gone in the blink of an eye.

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