Worlds Away
Flash Fiction
“You keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna rip those teeth outta your head. Understand?”
“But Mom, I—”
“I ain’t playin’, Jamison. Just keep runnin’ that mouth.” A sudden rage washed over her. She lunged at him.
The boy side-stepped his mother—evading her swipe— and made a break for the door. He flung it open and ran outside.
“Hope you’re not expectin’ dinner when you get home, you little shit!” Glenda Marsh came to a stop in the doorway of the trailer. Wobbly jowls, panting, crazed eyes.
Jamison hurried toward his bike on the ground, lifted it, and rode off down the dusty lane before she could throw something at him. His mother’s indecipherable shouts followed him until he was out of earshot.
Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes. His mere existence set her off. He was always speaking in the wrong tone, doing things he wasn’t supposed to do. It felt like he was the reason for her misery.
And how was it only mid-July? The start of school in September felt impossibly out of reach. He hated to admit he loved the place, but it was the truth. It got him out of that hellhole.
Jamison turned onto South Main and headed toward the old, familiar brick building. When he pulled up beside it, he leaned his bike against the tall oak tree by the sidewalk.
They should give me a nameplate and hammer it into the trunk already, Jamison thought. He snorted.
The boy stepped inside the library, his quiet refuge—said hello to Ms. Brooks, as usual.
“Let me know if you need anything, honey.” She glanced at him through her thick-rimmed spectacles.
The entire first floor was for children. A “What are you grateful for?” tree with dozens of branches and just as many leaves hung next to the main bulletin board. Jamison had created the first leaf for the tree a few weeks ago. He wrote “This place” on a red construction paper leaf and drew a stack of colorful books next to his words.
Jamison walked toward the fiction section and found himself a fantasy novel about a brother and sister who lived in a far-off world. On their thirteenth birthdays, their father informed them of their true lineage—the magic in their veins.
“Shocking,” Jamison said, but continued anyway, enjoying the story. It was fast-paced and action-packed, filled with swords and sorcery. He didn’t pay attention to the time because he was no longer on planet Earth. He was worlds away.
“Hey, honey,” Ms. Brooks said, peeking around the corner. “It’s about closing time. You want to check that out?”
“Oh, sorry,” Jamison said, pushing himself up from the beanbag in the corner of the room. “Lost track of...everything.”
“I know the feeling.”
He followed her to the desk, fumbling around in his pockets, eventually pulling out some lint and an old gum wrapper. “I think I forgot my card at home. Guess I was in a bit of a hurry.”
“No worries, honey. We’ve got your backup here, I think…” Ms. Brooks took out a small metal box from underneath the desk and filed through it. “Ah, here you are.”
She scanned the card and then the book. “Due the thirty-first. Need the receipt?”
Jamison shook his head and thanked her.
“You have a good evening now, Mr. Jamison.”
He wished his mom was soft-spoken and level-headed like Ms. Brooks.
He tucked the book under one arm and steered his bicycle single-handedly all the way home.
When he got there, it was quiet. Right around 6:00. Dinnertime. Gray clouds moved in, and it started to rain.
His mother was fast asleep on the couch, feet up on the worn ottoman. Mouth open.
If he could say one thing with confidence, it was that she held true to her word. He tiptoed past her and into the kitchen, belly rumbling. He double-checked the refrigerator to make sure she hadn’t cooked dinner and left it in there. But before he opened the door, he knew he’d find it empty.
He fixed himself some Spaghetti-Os and ate quietly in the kitchen in the semi-dark, reading his library book. When he finished, he cleaned his bowl and spoon and rinsed the can. The rain fell harder.
As he walked by his mother toward the bedrooms, he decided to cover her with a blanket. He didn’t know what possessed him to do it. Was it a truce, a peace offering, of sorts? Or the simple fact that she was the only mother he’d ever have? Even while asleep she looked sad and angry—her brow perpetually creased.
He hoped someday things got better. For her. For them—between them.
When he got to his bedroom, he shut the door quietly and turned on the reading light at his desk.
Before he knew it, he was transported back to the magical realm.
At some point in the night, he broke away from the story. He heard the shuffling of feet.
The door creaked open. His mother’s face appeared, nothing more than a shadow in the dark hallway. “Did you eat?”
“Yeah.”
“That any good?”
“The book? Yeah, it’s a fun one.”
“Keep your nose in ‘em. You hear me? They’ll get you outta here someday.” She paused. “Don’t stay up too late.”
“Okay.”
She shut the door. Jamison’s eyes lingered on the knob, hoping it would twist and she’d come back in and wrap him in a big hug, telling him how much she loved him. What a good son he’d been all these years—all this time.
All he heard was soft rain falling—the boom and crackle of an impending storm.
Jamison opened the book, clinging to his mother’s words.
And then, like before, he was gone.
Thank you for reading “Worlds Away.” Though it’s a story with some darker themes, I hope enough light shines through for you.
While summer break is wonderful for many teachers, students, and families in general, it’s a long haul for some. This story is for the kids who may have been dealt a similar hand to Jamison’s. I know they’re out there, and I feel for them.
On a lighter note, what are you reading this summer? I recently finished No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy and A Door in the Dark by Scott Reintgen. (Highly recommend both!) I just started The Stand by Stephen King. I’m hoping it lives up to all the hype because it’s an absolute doorstop of a novel and a serious time commitment.
I look forward to hearing from you!
Fifties by the Fire
We’ll be having another fifty-word Friday on July 21 at 3:00 PM EST. If you’re interested in contributing a fifty-word story, please see the prompt—and accompanying image—below.
Prompt: Write a fifty-word story (fiction, poem, or work of CNF) that somehow incorporates the accompanying image.
Here are the other guidelines:
Make sure your piece is exactly fifty words. Feel free to use Word Counter or the word processor you use.
Write a title with the genre in the first line. (Example: Porch, Fiction)
The title does not factor into the word count.
Remember, Fifties by the Fire will go live on Friday, July 21 at 3:00 PM EST. I can’t wait to read some fifty-word stories! It’s always a fun time.
Until then,
Justin
Thanks for reading, Geoffrey!
I’ve never read any of Samantha Irby’s work, but it all looks pretty funny, haha. Thanks for the other suggestion. I tend to read and listen to a separate book at the same time, so I will have to add these two titles to my list. Looking forward to listening to them!
Excellent story, you brought the characters to life. Strange thing maybe, perhaps it is becasue of the strained relationship I had with my mother, but i found myself feeling sorry for the mother character.