Tuesday Tales and Being Strong When You're Weak

Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.

A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. This week we share the prompt "strong".  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds.  This will be an excerpt from my new yet-to-be-named WIP.

Enjoy!~

High clouds stirred and brewed against darkening blue skies. The climbing heat combined with the humidity, thrusting against a high cap in the atmosphere. Spring had come to Oklahoma. We’d already had a few strong rains, but, thankfully no tornados. When the sprinkles began, my nerves shot up and I almost lost my shit. I took Ryan underground even when it wasn’t essential. My parents had a cellar they kept stocked with supplies. So, we had a good place to go in the event of another major storm. However, I frequented often, even when the clouds produced nothing more than blocking the sunshine.

Pulling onto the concrete drive, a flash of my former home slammed against my awareness. It was a former time- I was pulling into the driveway after a day at school.  Dangling from the front porch, the chimes rang outside while the breeze blew a melody only nature could create. I wondered what I would fix for supper, and tried to remember if Garrett was working the night shift.

The scene left my consciousness as quickly as it arrived. I was back in the present staring at a blank city lot. Most of the trash had been removed. My friends and family took care combing through the rubble, looking for anything salvageable. I saw the blank cement foundation, once a lively groundwork for my precious family. We had so much more to build. Now, it stood empty once more, like a blank canvas for the next artist. I’d already decided I wasn’t building there again. It was time for me to move on from the ghosts of the past I had a feeling would haunt me. I couldn’t shut my brain down and certainly couldn’t prevent the what-if monsters from plaguing me.

Surveying the rest of the lot illuminated by sunshine, I noted the cellar door. Walking toward it, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see inside, but, my personal train wreck kept me glued in curiosity. Leaning over, I gripped the door handle, ready to pull, when a honeybee landed on my knuckle, startling me. I shook my hand free of the stinging threat, releasing the handle.

I think that was my sign from above to leave the past well alone. Maybe it was Garrett, warning me against the bog of miserable history. My eyes followed the bee, wondering how far high it would fly. Did guardian angels really take the form of something palpable on earth?

I had to believe it was true, because my heart couldn’t take it any other way.

 

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