Collection of Very Short Stories

I have started to be more active with the Twitter hashtag #vss365. I don't write for every prompt,  but I've used the opportunity to expand my writing. I thought it would be fun to share some of the stories here. Each day has a different word to be included in the story.

They swore they would be #allies. They were too nervous to actually cut their palms to make it a blood pact, so they used their ice cream cones. 30 Years later. His hands clean, his arms scarred. They shared an ice cream cone in the hospital room. Both teary-eyed. #vss365

"Just a #request..." she said. He walked around the front of the car. He opened the door and reached his hand out. She placed her hand in his. "Anything for you, my love," he said as she stood up. She hit the garage door button as the kids rushed them. #vss365

The buzzer went off, but Kevin knew he had released the ball before the sound, it was traveling a perfect arch, but to the right. Time slowed. His heart sank as the ball faded more to the right... then banked hard off the glass, rim and in! The gym sounded like #pride #vss365

Year: 2103. The #mules were packed. It’s been 4 months. The town was quiet. His children looked at him, uncertainty welling in their eyes. The truth he felt was unspeakable, so instead he said, “We’ll be OK.” #vss365

She stood in the bathtub with her teddy bear #Enchanted. Her feet covered in flour (that made a trail back to the kitchen). The house was so quiet. She could feel the magic. In a bolt she rushed to the window to see if it worked. Nothing. She had school tomorrow. #vss365

The Walker

10:37 p.m. Tuesday night.

The back road was empty next to the neighborhood that was developing about a mile away from the city. Light could be seen from a handful of windows and street lamps scattered across the the cul-de-sacs. A single streetlamp at the intersection of Maple and 87th Ave., one of two roads that brought people to the neighborhood, created a cone of light that revealed the farmland filled with corn stalks on the west side of the road. It was quiet. It was safe.

10:39 p.m. Tuesday night.

In the cone of light created by the streetlamp at the intersection of Maple and 87th Ave., a man appeared as if he walked out of the darkness instead of walking on the street. If anyone saw him, they would assume he was old, homeless, and lost. He wore three layers of t-shirts underneath a vest you would find on someone who was fly fishing. He limped with an up down motion on his left side. His fingernails were dirty. His hair was white, messy. If you had the chance to talk with him, his eyes would wander, never making eye contact. He slowly walked through the light toward the city.

A set of headlights appeared in front of the man. Derrick was heading home from Sonic. He had stopped to get a slushie after playing basketball at the YMCA. A group of school friends were hanging out, so he had decided to stay for a while. He texted his parents to ask if he could be home by 11:00. They were fine with it. Derrick was feeling good, music a little loud.

Derrick was surprised to see the man walking down 87th Ave. He released the gas a little as he moved over to the left lane to give the man space. As Derrick passed the man, he made the assumption that he was homeless and forgot about him as he turned right onto Maple, then right again onto Spruce Ct. Which was one of six cul-de-sacs in the neighborhood. Derrick’s home faced 87th Ave. There was an empty lot between the his house and 87th Ave. As Derrick reached up to push the button on the garage door opener, he saw the man, still on the avenue, but now facing him. There was just enough light from the streetlamp to see him. Derrick never noticed that he could actually see all of the man, even though the light should have only exposed the man’s left side. For a second, Derrick thought about locking his doors. The garage door was slowly opening, revealing the light from the garage door opener. Derrick’s attention moved to driving the car forward. The idea of getting ready for bed and the homework he probably should do before going to bed replaced the man in his mind. Derrick started to take his foot off the brake when motion outside his window drew his attention.

Derrick looked quickly outside the driver side window to see the man standing there. A slight smile on his grimy face, eyes still unfocused, and his hands moving up toward the window. Derrick had just enough time to register everything before the shattering of glass made him let go of the steering wheel to shield his face. His car moved slowly forward into the garage to bang into the fridge the family used to hold drinks like Gatorade, water, and sometimes extra beer. The impact was loud enough to wake Derrick’s mom, June.

June shook her husband, Robert. He grumbled then turned over. June got up, grabbed her robe from the hope chest at the end of the bed. She assumed she would run into her son in the hallway, but the house was still dark and quiet. She thought she could hear Derrick’s car still running in the garage. June felt that motherly instinct in her gut that something was not right. With the bang she heard, and the car still running, she sighed heavily as she considered the possibility that Derrick might have been drinking. She had worried about this moment since Derrick started junior high. June could feel her cheeks get warm as she unexpectedly felt anger gripping her heart. It was a Tuesday night.
June continued through the living room to the hallway with the door to the garage. June could definitely hear the car running and hurried to the door. June’s anger gripped tighter around her chest as she turned the knob.

June hurried down the three stairs to the floor. Anger was replaced with panic as soon as she saw the car’s grill pressed against the refrigerator, heard music playing, and saw the shards of glass around the edge of the driver side window.

    “Derrick! Robert come here!” June yelled as she pulled open the car door… to find the front seat empty.

10:43 p.m. Thursday night.

A single streetlamp at the intersection of Vine and 26th street created a cone of light that revealed the well maintained lawns. A single bark breaks the silence.

10:46 p.m. Thursday night.

In the cone of light created by the streetlamp at the intersection of Vine and 26th street, a man appeared. If anyone saw him, they would assume he was old, homeless, and lost. He wore four layers of t-shirts underneath a vest you would find on someone who was fly fishing. He limped with an up down motion on his left side. His fingernails were dirty. His hair was white, messy. If you had the chance to talk with him, his eyes would wander, never making eye contact. He slowly walked down Vine Street. Three blocks away a set of headlights appeared.

Denotation Life

Happiness is just a cliché

A simile that is supposed to paint a picture perfect smile

To cover the cracks that show through your skin

This is not a hyperbole

Darkness outshines light, let’s be honest about

The paradox of this existence

The connotations are just too cloudy for anyone’s point of view

See this anecdote doesn’t have a happy Hollywood ending

There is no sequel to this short story,

only flashbacks that interrupt the narrative

Disrupting the tone of my verse

The rhyme scheme off

    because I write in free verse

    but with a sonnet mindset

I know no one will save these words as an allusion to explain

The irony of a story with no symbolism

Just a one star rating for this autobiographical soliloquy

Alone

The following story is from my 12 year-old daughter. She gave me permission to share this story. What do you think? 

Alone 

    The wind sighed as it blew gently, rattling the branches of the leafless trees.  It was in late September, a warm but cloudy Friday in Hastings, Nebraska.  Wrinkled and dull-colored leaves danced as the wind gingerly carried them, and the brown and lifeless grass wavered in the breeze.  

    But none of this was any significance to a young, six year-old girl, whose name was Emma.  She stared straight ahead as she slowly walked to Heartwell Park,  which had been her favorite since she could remember.  When she arrived at the entrance, she looked to her right. “Come on Lily. Maybe some ducks will be out today.” Then she glanced behind her, ”Keep up Elizabeth! You don’t wanna lose us!”

    Then she entered the park, walking past the playground equipment; the merry-go-round, slides, and the monkey bars.  As well as some desolate picnic pavilions.  No one was at the park except the trio, but it was still early in the afternoon. Plus, it was cloudy despite it being warm. But that didn’t bother Emma, actually, it made it better.  

“Hmmmm, it looks like the ducks don’t want to visit us today, Lily!” Emma stated as she studied the empty and still water.  She turned her head and saw the swing set.” Hey! I have an idea! Let’s go to the swings! Race you there Lily!”

Emma then ran as fast as she could to the swings. “Ha! I win!” She yelled out triumphantly when she reached a swing, panting slightly.   When Lily didn’t say anything, Emma decided to comfort her. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure you will beat me next time.”

Satisfied, she then hopped up onto the swing.”You don’t need to push us Lizzie.” Emma said to her babysitter,” See? I can push myself.” She pushed at the ground as hard as she could to swing.  But to her disappointment, she didn’t get very high. ‘All well,’ She thought,’ I didn’t want to get high anyways.’

She turned her head to face Lily who was on the swing next to her. She opened her mouth and was just about to say something when she heard a ‘meow’ coming from near her feet.  Emma peered down and was surprised and pleased to find a black and white cat sitting next to her swing.  “Oh, hi Henry!”

Henry meowed again in reply.  “Yeah, it is nice out today!” Emma returned.  She swiveled her head to her right.”What Lily? Oh, no, my parents don’t know that I am here.  But we have Lizzie with us! I think we will be alright.”

She chattered to her friend for a bit, occasionally switching every once and awhile to chat with her babysitter or Henry.  They didn’t reply much, but Emma didn’t notice or really care.  

After running out of things to say, Emma simply gazed straight ahead, her mind floating off into the clouds, knowing that her friends wouldn’t mind her silence.  Something was nagging the back of her mind, but Emma ignored it, desperate to keep the thought out of her mind.  

Hearing a car screech to her left, Emma jerked her head just in time to see a car screech to a stop, but too late.  It slammed into an opossum, and Emma could see without a doubt the opossum was killed.  Emma blinked rapidly, helpless to control her mind as it forced her back into a memory Emma never wanted to think about again.

“Come on Lily!” Emma giggled as she skipped down the sidewalk.  She grinned at the sound of laughter from behind her.

“Wait up Emma!” Lily yelled back as she ran to her best friend.  The two girls laughed when they caught up with each other.  Lily was a young six year girl, with snow blonde hair and blue eyes.

“Wait girls! Let me catch up.” Groaned Elizabeth, their babysitter.  Elizabeth was a sixteen year old, with dirty blonde hair and green eyes. She ran up to them, and the trio all walked in a steady pace.  

All the sudden, something black darted in front of them. “Woah!” Lily yelped as she nearly stepped on the thing.

“Oooh, look! It’s Henry!” Emma said excitedly, bending down to pet the cat.  Henry meowed a greeting and rubbed his head against her hand.  Henry was mainly a black cat, but had a white muzzle and chest.  He also had beautiful blue-green eyes.  However, Henry was a stray.  But one day, on the first time the girls met Henry, they petted and fed him a treat.  And ever since then, the cat followed them around.

“Hey Henry!” Lily cooed as she rubbed the cat’s back.  The girls snickered again when they heard the cat purr.

“Huh, he just seems to keep finding us wherever we go, doesn’t he?” Elizabeth observed, also bending down to pet the cat.

“Maybe he’s magic.” Emma whispered to Lily, causing her to giggle.

“Yeah, maybe he is a magic cat.” Lily whispered back.  Once they were done petting Henry, the girls set off again, now joined by their small, black companion.  They were all talking and laughing when Henry suddenly darted onto the road to investigate a dead bird, who looked like it had been ran over.

“Eeewww, Henry! Don’t eat that!’ The girls grimaced in disgust.  Then a car, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, zoomed down the street.  Henry jerked his head up, but froze.  

“HENRY!” Lily screamed and darted out onto the road in hopes of saving the cat.

“No Lily! DON’T!” Elizabeth shouted and and ran after her.

Then came the worst moment of Emma’s life.

“NO!” Emma screamed as the car collided into them. “NOOOO!”

*Thunk*

*Scream*

*Crack*

‘The car didn’t even stop,’ Emma thought distantly,’ It didn’t even stop.’

Emma stared in horror at the corpses now lying on the road, blood pooling around them.  Elizabeth’s legs looked crushed after a tire ran over them.  Emma thought she could see something white around her rib area.  Lily’s head was bent at an awkward angle. Her head had a bloody gash.

‘Get up! Get. Up!’ But they didn’t.  And they never would again.

Emma felt numb, unaware that she was still screaming.   Tears were rushing down her face, soaking her cheeks.  She wanted to run to them, see if they were alive, but her feet were rooted to the ground.  She felt like she couldn’t breathe.

‘This can not be happening! This can NOT be happening!’ Emma screamed in her mind.

“NOOOOOOO!”

    Emma gasped sharply, her mind finally allowing her to leave.  Her pants were sharp and short, panic and horror flaring in her chest.  “ No, No.” She choked, tears dripping down her cheeks. “Please no.”

    She whirled her head around, desperate to find someone, anyone, there.  But nobody was.  Henry was not by her feet.  Elizabeth was nowhere to be found.  And Lily had disappeared by her side.

    They were gone.  

    Dead.

    Emma hiccuped and wiped her cheeks, unsuccessfully trying to clear away her tears.  She looked up at the sky.  ‘Why? Why did they leave?’

    Emma slid off the swing and stood still for several minutes, staring at the ground, watching as tears fell from her chin.  She sniffed before shuffling her feet forward, slowly making her way back to the entrance of the park.

    Alone.

    Behind her, the swing that she had previously sat on, was still gently swinging.  After a couple of moments, the swing next to it also began to sway.

    Back and forth.

    Back and forth.

    Slowly getting higher.  

    As if someone was sitting on it and someone else was pushing it.

 

                                                                   FIN

Please leave any feedback for my daughter in the comment section, thank you from both of us.

The Last Snowflake

            Jeff was eight years old when he started collecting the last snowflake of a storm.  It was during one of those snow days students dream of; heavy fluffy flakes falling like a spring rain. Inches would fall in minutes, yet the day was warm and kids, bundled up by mothers, headed out to play. 
             As the daylight started to fade, noses red and shiny from the cold, Jeff headed home.  The snow was almost done falling, and with a block left before his home the storm seemed to have ended.  Jeff felt good, as only kids can. No worries about where to put the wet boots, or anxiety of catching a cold.  Those were grownup issues.  The day was filled snow angels, half recognizable forts, and Cindy's mom bringing out hot chocolate around three o'clock.  Jeff was wishing it wouldn't end when he saw it.  A single fluffy flake falling, twirling, reflecting the gold and red of the sunset.

            Jeff let it fall onto his wet mittens.  It was the size of a quarter, an intricate design of diamonds and angles.  Jeff jogged home and placed it in a Ziploc bag. He then stored it in the freezer.  He would add three more Ziploc bags, each with the last snowflake of that winter's storms.

            Over the next three years Jeff would collect the last snowflake of every storm.  Well almost every storm.  When he was 10 his dad found him asleep in the entryway with his boots on.  Jeff had tried to stay awake during a storm that started at dinnertime.  Jeff didn't talk to his mom for two days when he was eleven when she made him come in for dinner.  Jeff had been out in the storm for forty-five minutes waiting for the last snowflake.  Each time he thought he had it; another burst of flakes would be released. By the time he was done eating, the skies were clear.

            Jeff never explained why he collected the snowflakes, not even to his parents.  But as so many magical things disappear in our lives, so did collecting the last snowflakes.  When Jeff was thirteen the illusion of being cool was more important than collecting snowflakes.  Without a word Jeff went to the family room to play video games the night of the first storm.  His dad thought about asking him if he was heading outside, but Jeff didn't talk more than a few words to his parents that year.  The illusion of cool influenced more in Jeff's life than snowflakes.

            Jeff would think about the last snowflake of storms over the years.  During a football game his senior year, sitting in the library studying for finals his sophomore year of college.  Jeff almost told Susan, his future wife, about the last snowflake while walking her through a beautiful snowfall to her dorm during graduate school.  He stood out front of Susan's dorm that night actually hoping he could catch the last snowflake. But the snow kept falling, beautifully shimmering in the light of the lamppost along the walkway.  After five minutes he decided to head home to work on his thesis.  Not wanting to look like a stalker or something outside a girl's dorm.

            Jeff's life and memory moved farther and farther away from those five winters of collecting snowflakes.

            "Daddy, come look!" A little girl, eight years old draped across the top of the couch, watches the snow fall in random patterns. "Daddy, it is so pretty."

            "Humm, yes it is." Jeff joins his daughter across the top of the couch.

            Grace becomes quiet.

            "What's wrong?" Jeff asks her, still watching the snowflakes, big and fluffy, fall in front of the them.

            "Nothing, I just wish I could," Grace looks at her dad trying to articulate a deep feeling she doesn't have words for, "hold the snow.  Hold the way it looks?" She raises her eyebrows in a question.

            Jeff smiles, "You mean have this moment last forever?"

            "Yes!" Grace smiles, “forever." She turns back to watch the snowflakes fall.

            They are quiet for a few moments. Jeff starts to smile, but starts to doubt what he is thinking.

            "Do you want to know a secret, Grace?"

            She turns bright eyed toward Jeff.

            "If we catch the last snowflake of this storm, it will always be with you, in here." Jeff points to his heart.

            "In my heart?" Grace asks with a tone of confusion.

            Jeff regrets even bringing up the idea.  It sounded so silly coming from his adult mouth.  Life was not so magical when you had a mortgage to pay.

            Grace looks at Jeff, "Will it be there forever?"  Her eyes wide.  Her face open and honest, ready to believe in anything her daddy said.

            For a moment Jeff debates whether to tell her the truth or not.  He decides on the truth.

            "Yes, this moment will stay in your heart forever, but only if you catch the last snowflake." Jeff tells her, emphasizing the last part.

            Grace turns to the window and softly asked her daddy, "Can you help me catch it?" She turns back to Jeff hoping.

            "Yes, I will.  Let's grab our boots and mittens and a Ziploc bag to put the snowflake in."

            A father and daughter head out into the yard ready to capture a moment of life together.

           

Just a Cup...

They say life is stranger than fiction.  I believe them.  I sat there drinking my favorite cappuccino, double shot with Cafe Mocha Trio, looking in to the eyes of my first love.  I told my self "Peter, don't mess this up."  But I wasn't sure if I meant my marriage or the chance to tell Rose I loved her.

   Amie and I had a fight over the scrambled eggs.  We were down to 100 dollars in the checking account and still had two weeks to go before we were paid.  Our savings were basically depleted, a dollar thirty-six had sat there for two months now.

   "We have to pay the car loan," I said.

   "How?  How can we pay a 236 dollar car payment with only a 100 dollars?"  Her fork ringing the side of the plate for emphases.

   "Can't you ask your parents for some help this month?"

   "No, they lent us the money for the down payment.  You got to stop your stupid spending habits."

   "I have cut back," I couldn't believe she had brought this up again.  "I haven't gotten a coffee or CD or, or anything like that in a month."

   "Really?  What was the package in the mail yesterday?”  I knew I was in for a long morning, she was looking at me from the top of her eyelids, her arms had crossed, and her mouth was now slightly opened with the corners dragging downward.

   I knew she was right.  I had never had this much money in my life.  We both had good jobs.  Not much debt.  I was enjoying life, at least the material aspect.  After 10 months of marriage, I was wondering if I truly loved this woman.  "The new Stephen King book," I answered deflated.

  Amie stood up from the table, unable to speak.  She stared at me as she took her plate into the kitchen.  "I've got to go get ready for work," she said.

  I had met Amie during our senior year at college.  She was sitting alone one day at the student union.  Studying some computer language.  For that moment, she was beautiful, hair in a slight mess, eyes intense, and small feet dangling just above her sandals.

  I walked over to her and said "Hi, I'm Peter."

  "Ok, I'm busy Peter, but thank you for introducing yourself."

  I just stood there.  I usually had no trouble with women.  I was the President of the academic Fraternity, played all the intramural sports, and was a social person.  I just stood there.

   "Peter, if you wish to get to know me, I suggest having a Latte' in your hand.”  She smiled as she pointed out the coffee shop with her head.

   "I'll be back...”  I paused waiting for her to reveal her name.

   "Latte' first, I have to know how serious you are."

   With a smile I said, "I'll be right back."

   Now about two years later Amie is still direct, only with her anger instead of her love.

  I didn't have work, so I headed to the local Starbucks.  I needed some time to think and a good cup of coffee.  I was standing in line, lost in thought.  Knowing that I did need to harness in my spending, but I wasn't sure how.  I had worked hard to put myself through school.  My parents were a waste of space, even in the beat-up Lazy-boy recliners they spent their life in.  The adult world was filled with everyday issues that were wearing on my spirit.  Bills, house repairs, lawn issues, and even the daily habits of just being a husband.

   "Peter?"

   "Hu," I replied to my name.  Turning around to see the deep green eyes of Rose.

   Rose was my first love in high school.  I was a junior.  She was a freshman.  We met at the Winter Formal in February.  We were inseparable for a year and a half.  I knew I loved her, but I never told her.  I was scared of love.  My parents' waste of life made me weary of what love could do to you.  Rose though, she had loved me with all her heart.  Notes in my locker, flowers before big games. 

   Then college came.  I suspect it is the same old story.  Promises to stay in touch, to call every night, to keep each other in the heart.  Instead studying becomes before the phone call.  The heart grows restless.  And life happens.  We had never officially broke up; we just stopped living the same life.

  "Rose?  Rose?  What are you... Man, you look good."  All those high school feelings came rushing over me.  Making out under the stars after winning homecoming.  Dancing close at prom.  Six shoeboxes filled with notes.

  "I have an internship with Davis and Jones law office.  You look good."  She looked down at my hand.  "I see you’re married," a small drop in hope from her voice.

  "Yes, I am."  I didn't know what to say.  I wanted to tell her it was rough.  I wanted to tell her I missed her.  I wanted her to stay.

  "Well, I have a few minutes... do you want to sit, talk?"

  "Yes, I would.  Yes, I would."

  I knew in my heart that this was a moment.  I sipped the hot cappuccino.  The milk foam tickling my lip.  Amie and I had so much fun, until we got married.  I knew part of the issue was me, I was still afraid of the silent two-chair existence.  I was spending too much.  Our marriage was far from over.  I felt that all we needed was to change a few things; ok I needed to change a number of things.

  But there sat Rose, ocean green eyes and the laugh that swept the world away.  I thought to myself "don't mess this up."  I sipped my drink.

Disappear

    I wrote this three years ago. During a DL (distance learning) class one of the away schools had a fire drill.  Their classroom looked like they had disappeared.  School supplies were everywhere, and it was deadly silent.  A student commented how eerie it was and that sparked this story.

        His eyelids were heavy.  He blinked fast seven times, but the warmth of lunch combined with another PowerPoint over the checks and balances of our government made his eyes heavy.  It was not as if he hated the class, in fact in most cases it was interesting to learn about America’s government and how power was displayed, bartered, and abused.  However, it followed lunch.  Today was BBQ sandwiches, and Justin had consumed five of them.  Three minutes until the bell.  He could make it because his next class was “on-line” today.

            Sixth period was an early entry college class, American Literature that was broadcasted over the Internet and displayed on a flat screen TV.  He went to class with four other schools. St.Paul a town 20 minutes away.  Loup County which was an hour south and Pleasanton High School which was 40 minutes to the west.  The home site, where the class was broadcasted from, was at University of Nebraska, Kearney. 

            They were “on-line” three days a week, like a real college class.  Justin was excited to see Rose Tatemen from Loup County.  They had started to talk on Facebook after they had to debate what Robert Frost meant in his poem “The Road not Taken.”  There were actually five students, one from each site, but the debate had progressed to Rose and Justin debating the meaning of the last paragraph.  Rose standing firm on the idea of Frost saying that taking the path was a statement of individuality. Justin countering that she had been brainwashed by Hallmark and that Frost was saying you can never know what a choice will do for you in life, hence the line, “I will be saying this with a sigh.”

            Justin was struck by her independence, and her slight lean to the left with her right eyebrow up when she thought she had made a great point.  That night he connected with her on Facebook and their friendship was progressing the last couple of weeks.  He was walking quickly to be there before the tardy bell.  The first five minutes of class were always hectic as the schools came on line.  Dr. Graf was always logged on at 1:00; St. Paul was usually on too.  Then Justin’s class, followed by Loup County, then Pleasanton which didn’t have sixth period until 1:07.

            “Hello Justin, early again.”  Dr. Graf commented from the TV.  There was just a slight delay between his lips and the words, as if you had blinked at the beginning of the conversation and your mind was trying to make the audio match the visual input.

            “Good afternoon, I was trying to walk off the great lunch I had.”

            “Hummm, I see.  Maybe the day will be even better with a debate today over money’s power on people.”  Dr. Graf said with that sly smile of his that meant there was more to the statement.

            “Depends on who I get to debate with,” Justin replied with a smile.

            “Well, let’s get the other class on-line…” they both smiled.

            Justin hoped that college would be this interesting.  He could not wait to be done with high school.  He was ready to be done with what seemed like consistent drama.  Everyone around him seemed to be stuck in junior high.  Other students were entering the room, Justin sat in his normal place, far left middle row of tables.  Just at the edge of the camera’s vision. The seat was next to the only window in the room, and even if it seemed he was not listening, he was as he stared out at the window.

            The TV was in motion; Dr. Graf ‘s window was to the right and large.  To the left the windows were getting smaller as the column filled with video of the four high schools.  Pleasanton flashed on last, and the speakers shared the mix of students laughing, setting books down, and the constant rumblings of teenage life issues.

            Justin looked at Loup County’s window for Rose.  There she was, third desk middle row, pencil tapping her tempo.  Justin raised his pen, tapping his right tempo.  It was their hello.  They both smiled.  They had started the ritual last week.

            “OK, class let’s get caught up on due dates for the next week…” Dr. Graf’s voice continued while Justin watched the sunlight highlight the edge of his table as his mind checked off the assignments in his head.

           

            The clock read 1:13

            “St. Paul?”  Dr. Gaf’s voice inflected with annoyance.  “Hello.  St. Paul…  Are you there?”  The screen revealed tables with books, computers open, and a few water bottles but no students.  The class was involved in group work.  Each site had three groups with their own set of questions covering the book, The Natural.  They would then share and discuss answers toward the end of class.

            “Did anyone hear anything, like a bell or fire alarm?”  Dr. Gaf asked, as most of the students’ attention moved to the TV in their rooms.  It was always a fun moment when one of the high schools would run a practice fire alarm.

            A series of no’s ran through the system.  Making the audio do a slight feedback that made Dr. Graf winch in his comical way.

            “Hummm, continue to work.  I’m going to try to contact Mr. Jackson at St. Paul.”  Dr. Graf turned to his computer, then proceeded to pick up a phone that was just out of sight of the camera.  The students returned to work, but kept an eye on the screen.  Dr. Graf didn’t seem to be able to get anyone on the phone.

            The clock read 1:16

            Shelly saw it first, from Loup County.  Dr. Graf was busy at his computer, it seemed he was typing something, probably an email.

            “Dr. Graf,” a slight hesitation from Shelly.

            “Yes.”  He didn’t look up from his computer, but you could sense he was listening from the slight shift of his head to the right.

            “Pleasanton is gone…” the statement hung in the air.  Every student turned to see two windows that revealed the same picture.  The basic student life laid out on tables, but no students.

            Dr. Graf stood still.  The remaining students held their breath, not sure what to do.  Then a smile broke the tension.  “Nice practical joke, guys,” Dr. Graf said.  His shoulders relaxing.  “I appreciate the work you put into this, but let’s get back to work.  Come back St. Paul and Pleasanton.”  He spoke directly into the microphone and turned to the TV on his left.  For a moment, it seemed as if the students would return, loud and with smiles.  But nothing.

            “OK, I get the joke.  Let’s get back to work.”

            Justin spoke, “I don’t think it is a joke, Dr. Graf.”  He had not been informed of any practical joke.  From the looks of his fellow classmates, they hadn’t either.

            Rose looked at him, the TV broadcasting her and every other students’ panic.  Justin looked into the camera, trying to let Rose know he saw her by his will alone.

            “Hold on, guys.”  Dr. Graf grabbed the phone.

            The clock read 1:19.

            Justin didn’t think he blinked.  But it felt like the world did.  Dr. Graf was gone.  He could have left to speak to someone.  “Hello, Kearney?  Anyone there?” Justin moved to the teacher station in the room.

            No response.  The students at Kearney were never on camera.  The room only had one camera and it was directed at the teacher station.

            “Kearney.  Anyone?  Hello.”  Justin tried to keep the panic from filtering into his speech.

            “What’s going on?”  Katie spoke with a whisper.  A rush of noise came from Loup County.  Mrs. Heinen had burst into the room.  “We can’t contact St. Paul.  Mr. Badura advises us to stay here until further notice.”

            “Justin, what do we do?”  Adam was standing next to him.

            “I don’t know…  Run to the office and see if they know anything.”  Adam was off before he finished his statement.  Justin glanced at the clock, 1:21.  An alarm went off in his mind. He tried to get a clear thought pattern going, but the absurdity of the situation broke every thought apart.

            “Justin.”  A voice.  He looked around but his classmates were all busy in their groups.  He could see the uncertainty in their actions, grabbing a book bag and putting it back down.  Travis literally eating his pen top.

            “Justin.”  It was Rose.  She was peering through the camera, eyes holding back tears.  Justin moved toward the TV to see her.  His mind cleared.  Even at this moment, she was beautiful.  A crazy urge to just hold her overwhelmed him.

            “Yes, Rose.  I’m here…”

            She smiled and started to tap her pen… the clock’s hand moved to 1:22.