Hey, gang.

I'm a newbie, I guess, but not a newbie. I was a regular here... 10-15 years ago maybe. (I can't find my old class work and community posts here anymore, though.)

I'm a fantasy/science fiction author. I've got a few books on Amazon and I've sold a few of them. I haven't released a new book since 2019, The Lich's Heart. I had a science fiction book almost ready to go out in 2020... but it was 2020. Since then, my day job has totally taken over my life and I've been having problems getting everything together and finishing my projects.

It's not that I haven't written since then. I've written multiple first drafts of books, including 4 books that are part of the fantasy series I was working on, and two books starting new fantasy series. I've also done several rewrites on one of those books, The Butcher's Bill.

But I've also kinda lost focus. I used to be a semi-professional musician and I've gotten more and more into composing. When working in one of the year-long group classes (with Devon Ellington back in the day), I got deeply into 3D Art while trying to design book covers. I've realized that I'm spending more time and more money on those two interests instead of my writing.

When I was here back in Ye Olden Days, I took lots of classes and learned lots of things. I'm hoping I can get refocused and that spending my money HERE instead of on music classes will help with that.

Our winner for our first Flash Fiction contest of 2024 is.....
@T.E. Bradford for Celestial Beach!

Congratulations @T.E. Bradford

I'll be in contact for your prompt for our next contest. We are skipping a week to get back in our sync with alternating weeks between Flash and Crit Partner match.

Celestial Beach
The sound of the trunk closing, enveloping my single suitcase, rang with an odd finality. I stared at my warped reflection in the rear window. “I shouldn’t go.”

Sandra, my best friend since high school, put an arm around my shoulders. “You need this, Dee.” Her smile managed to look both hopeful and concerned. “You deserve a vacation.”

I couldn’t shake the strange sense of wrongness looking at my car gave me. I’d always loved driving… before. “Something isn’t right.”

Sandra’s smile faded. The concern in her eyes deepened. “David’s been gone two years, Dee. You can’t hide in this house forever.”

Was that what I’d been doing? Hiding? It felt more like waiting. Waiting for my life to make sense again. Waiting for the world to stop spinning along without me.

Waiting for David to come home.

At some point I should have realized none of those things were ever going to happen.

“Okay.” I gave Sandra the best smile I could muster. “Okay, I’m going.”

Her squeeze tightened. “Good. Call me when you get there.” She smiled at our joint reflections. “I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

If loading my suitcase had felt strange, driving away was ten times worse. The road spooled away from home like a funhouse floor, propelling me while tipping out of kilter with the world, leaving me on a precarious, moving ledge.

It’s only a couple weeks, I told myself. You can do this.

When had I become such a recluse?

The sun was warm through the car windows. It’d be nice to see the ocean. To hear the whoosh of the waves, and smell the brine and sea air. David and I had always loved going to the coast. Booking a dinner cruise, or a whale-watching excursion. Shopping in lazy little towns for things we didn’t need and would never use.

God, I miss you, Darling.

The tears came as they always did—unbidden, but familiar. Like the pain, I thought they’d let up eventually. They never did.

WELCOME TO CELESTIAL BEACH.

The sign surprised me. Had I driven three hours already? I grabbed a tissue to wipe my face, checking myself in the rearview, as though it mattered to anyone.

I rolled down the window, taking a deep breath. Not visible yet, I still sensed the closeness of the ocean, drawing me in like the tide. Something white on the road caught my attention.

2024.

Someone had painted the numbers on the pavement.

“Okay…?”

It might have made sense, if 2024 wasn’t already three years in the past.

Maybe the number meant something else to someone. An address, or the year they’d graduated. A mile later the road curved west, away from the distant mountains. Sand crept into the grass and in spots along the shoulder, telltale signs. Screeching gulls provided beach music as weathered houses came closer together, leading into the small New England town.

I smiled at the familiar sights. Dell Dairy and Ice Cream stand was crowded with people like always.

Farmer’s in the Dell! How many times had we quipped the same joke?

I slowed as I passed the 7-11 where we always stopped for slurpies.

Maybe I should have gone somewhere else. Somewhere not so filled with memories of David. Of us. But the small town had always felt like a second home.

I found the side-street, amazed as always at the sight of the ocean only a few hundred feet from the small wood fence at the end of the road, skirted with sawgrass and nearly swallowed by sand. I pulled into one of the Skylark’s eight parking spots.

I frowned at the sky blue car beside mine.

Looks just like David’s.

The intense feeling of strangeness crashed down, pinning me to my seat. For a moment it was difficult to breathe. Then a woman walked by, headed for the beach with a towel and a small cooler, and the oddness lifted like a cloud. I grabbed my purse before I could chicken out.

“There you are!”

My breath caught, and I nearly tripped.

“Whoa! Whoa. You okay?” A hand caught my arm.

I knew the touch as well as the voice, but looking up, seeing his face, his blue-gray eyes, was like peeking past forever and into the beyond.

“David?” How could this be happening?

His smile, the single dimple on the left side of his mouth… I could even smell his cologne. Maybe I’d had a stroke and was dead, my body left behind somewhere.

“I thought you’d never get here.” He popped the trunk, pulling out my suitcase. “Driving good?” He stopped beside me, his brows twitching downward. “Everything okay?”

I reached out a hand, unable to help but touch his face. His lips.

He kissed my fingers. “You’re scaring me, sweetheart.” He dropped my things and took my hand in both of his, pulling me into an embrace.

I melted against him.

How had I survived without him for even one day?

“Honey? What is it?” He pulled me away to wipe tears from my cheeks, worry etched into his face.

“N-Nothing. I’m okay. I just… I missed you.”

His face cleared and he grinned. “I missed you, too!” He buried his face in my neck, breath and whiskers tickling the spot behind my ear he knew so well.

If I was dead, my body had no idea.

Tingling, I followed him across the ground-floor balcony of the room we always asked for, unsure how any of this could be happening, but too overwhelmingly happy to question. A flash of white paint flitted through my mind’s eye.

2024.

Could the road have somehow taken me to the past?

As the husband I thought I’d lost forever set my suitcase down and turned to face me, I knew it didn’t matter. Wherever… whenever I was, I’d never leave.

My cell rang.

Sandra.

With trembling fingers I turned the phone off. This was a vacation, after all.

. . . and looking forward to learning from the community and what SavvyAuthors has to offer. I am not new to writing. However, I am new to taking myself seriously as a writer and learning as much as I can about the craft by immersing myself in drafting, editing, and publishing my work as an author. It's intimidating but I am at a point in my life where I'm ready to commit.

Or maybe 1/2 of a year since we started Fortnight Flash Fiction in July! I want to take a moment to congratulate all our winners from our last flash of the year. @Dawn_McClure and I thought this fun contest would be a way to help us all keep writing and I think, at least for me, it has! Now, in our last flash of the year we have the following great stories for you to read:

The Old Oak by @AliceO
Welcome Christmas by @Tammie Williams
Defying the Dark by @T.E. Bradford
The Gift by @Virginia Suckling

Congratulations to all the winners this year! And to our special final contest of the year winners!!

Please enjoy these short and fun reads!
And definitely consider participating next year! Our first contest starts on New Year's Day! What a great way to kick off 2024

Welcome 2024! First Fortnight Flash Fiction Jan 1-14, 2024.

Two words changed our lives forever.

“Active shooter.”

We all knew what it meant. We’d had drills. When Principal Deen’s tense, hushed voice spoke those words over the PA, we understood.

Sandra Collins hurried to the door. I was glad she was class leader today. I wasn’t sure I’d have thought to move so quick. Even as she pressed the lock, loud pops rang out from somewhere nearby. Screams echoed through the walls. Eyes wide, Sandra slapped the light switch, plunging us into semi-darkness, the only light from the two windows.

“One, two, three—come to me.” Mrs. Brady, our sixth-grade math teacher, gave our ‘remember phrase’ in a low, clear voice.

I slipped quietly from my seat, following my classmates. We gathered near Mrs. Brady’s desk, in the corner farthest from the door, but along the same wall. If a stranger looked in, he’d see only a dark room with empty seats.

Mrs. Brady laid her finger over her lips. We nodded. Of course, we’d be silent.

I couldn’t have spoken if I wanted to.

Mom would’ve been surprised, I think. She calls me her chatter-happy squirrel. It’s part of my sensory stuff, she says, but I just like to hear noise. To know I’m not alone. If I had a brother or sister, I probably wouldn’t mind the quiet so much. Or the dark corners, where shadows gather along with the dust.

Pop!

I jumped. That one was definitely closer.

A couple of kids whimpered. Mrs. Brady hugged us all closer to her. She motioned downward with her hand, and we sat on the floor. Huddled over. Even laid flat.

Small, smaller, smallest.

CRASH!

Footsteps pounded past our door. I could hear people breathing. I waited for screams, but none came. Just running, breathing, and the squeaks of sneakers. Should we run, too? What if the gunman had a bomb?

A hand touched my arm.

I lifted my cheek from the floor. Tight in the corner, Mrs. Brady held as many kids as her arms could reach. Her hands held theirs. She lifted one clasped hand and nodded, encouraging us. All around, we each found a hand to grasp.

A hand nudged mine. Majula—we called him Major. I knew him from grade school. His dark eyes met mine.

I took his hand. His skin was warm and dry. It felt better, somehow, having us all connected. None of us alone.

Loud footsteps.

Heavy, and slow. Not running, like the others.

My heart pounded so hard my whole body moved with each beat. I tried to breathe slower, but couldn’t. Air from my nose stirred up dust on the floor in little puffs. I watched it swirl around the feet of Mrs. Brady’s desk.

Major’s hand squeezed mine.

I squeezed back.

The knob on the door rattled.

Thank you, God, for Sandra and her quick thinking.

Count your blessings, Mom always said. Sandra was a blessing. And Mrs. Brady. And Major. My Mom and Dad were blessings. Funny, I’d never thought of them that way before. I wonder if they knew? If we made it through this, I’d have to tell them.

There were only three weeks left until Christmas break. Yesterday, all I’d wanted was an iPhone. Now, all I wanted was to see Mom and Dad again. I’d squeeze their hands, like Major was squeezing mine, and make sure they didn’t feel alone.

Pow! Pow!

The explosions were so close they were deafening. Not pops, like before, but sounds like cracks of thunder. A smoky, metallic smell filtered into our room. Had the shooter loosed some kind of chemical? Was he smoking us out of the rooms so he could gun us all down?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

What was that? It sounded like a bird.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Major’s fingers twitched. I turned my head, ear scraping on the floor. There, at the window.

A face.

My heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. I could see tactical gear. Was it the shooter? Had he gone outside to come around to the windows and shoot us where we hid?

A badge flashed in the light. Not the shooter, I realized.

A cop.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He pointed in, then at the window.

“Go.” I heard Mrs. Brady whisper.

Sandra crawled on hands and knees, staying low. She glanced at the door, eyes searching carefully before turning back to the window and twisting the latch. She pulled the window up.

The police officer put his finger over his lips the same way Mrs. Brady had earlier. He pointed at us, then at the window.

I looked back at Mrs. Brady.

Her eyes met ours. She nodded, and held up her clasped hand again.

We understood.

We moved as a group, quiet as mice. It was hard, getting up off that floor. I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay there, flattened down. But I fought it. I learned something else that day.

You can be afraid, and still keep moving. Defy the darkness.

One by one we slid out the window. More cops waited outside. They herded us toward the parking lot, where an army of emergency vehicles crowded.

In the end, we left the same way we’d sheltered—together, our hands clasped.

Someone cried a name.

Parents’ faces began to appear, and one by one we released into the arms of our families. We’d survived.

I saw Dad first.

I’ve never been so glad to see him. His face said the same. He held me tight. Then Mom was there, hugging us both.

I took their hands in mine, and squeezed.

They squeezed back.

#

The day before Christmas we all went back to the school parking lot. There were a lot of tears. Two teachers had died protecting children. But we clasped hands and sang carols, defying the shooter's attempt to kill our hope. Defying the dark.

We may be afraid, but we’ll keep moving forward.

Together.

Welcome Christmas while we stand, heart to heart, and hand in hand.”

This was one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite childhood Christmas movies. I remembered fondly sitting on the floor of my living room, excitedly waiting for it to start. It didn’t matter how many times I saw the movie, year after year, it signaled the start of the Christmas season for me and my family.

Everyone knew that the Grinch was an old sourpuss, but deep down he had kindness in his heart. Isn’t that the way humanity is supposed to be? That is what I was taught growing up. Volunteering in soup kitchens with my parents, Girl Scouts for me, Boy Scouts for my brother, gathering toys at Christmas for local foster kid organizations, and many other charitable organizations. Yes, this was my upbringing and the way I genuinely believed everyone thought.

But then I joined the Army. I wanted to serve my country and help others. I worked hard and gained rank and found myself in the Army Delta Force. We were the ones sent in to rescuethe hostages. It was during these times that my views on humanity changed. I saw and heard things that no human should ever hear or see. My team was sent in to rescue women and children who had been taken out of sheer hate. Men fighting for their lives, begging us to make room for them. My heart would break every time we had to leave someone behind.

Where was the humanity now?

Nothing I witnessed made sense to me. Yet, I knew from my upbringing that I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing.
When we arrived at basecamp with our newly rescued group in tow, tears would flow. Not only by those rescued, but from their families as well. There was never any shortage of thank-you's and hugs. Grown men hit their knees as they saw their wives walk off the planes. Mothers hugged their children so tight it was as if they were trying to pull them back into their bodies. Many times, I shed my own tears. Tears of relief that we found the hostages, tears of pride that we got them out, tears of joy that we were able to reunite families. But most of all I cried tears of sadness. Sadness that I had to be here at all. My heart hurt for these families and the loss and suffering they had to endure.

Today however, I tried not to think of the sadness. It was Christmas Eve, I wished I were home with my family, but here I was at my base camp with people who had come to be a second family to me. We were being briefed about a hostage situation that had taken place in the Middle East. We were going to be sent in the day after Christmas. We had two days to enjoy a military holiday.

We all waited excitedly for the packages from home delivering home baked goods, candies, cookies, even an occasional brownie. But the best part of the packages were the letters and pictures. Even though we received letters throughout the year, there was something about those cards and letters that come at Christmas that made them extra special.
Christmas day arrived and the chow hall created a special dinner for us. There was ham and macaroni and cheese, turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes, and green bean casserole. The one time of the year you never heard anyone complain about a mess in the mess hall. We all come together regardless of our rank for some camaraderie and laughter.

“Jingle bells, Jingle bells, jingle all the way,” Someone started singing Christmas Carols and we all joined in. For today we would forget the wars that were happening around us. For today we would not think about the lives that would be placed in our hands tomorrow.

Today the room was full of joy as we gathered and bowed our heads to pray before the meal we were being blessed with.

I looked around at all my fellow soldiers, some had grabbed the hand of the person next to them, some put an arm around the shoulder of their neighbor, all were thankful for the moment, and I remembered my childhood once more and whispered “Welcome Christmas while we stand, heart to heart and hand in hand.

Toni stared at the invitation in her hand. Adams High School Class of 1973 50th Reunion.

She’d been seventeen in 1973. The year the U.S. left Vietnam. Roe v. Wade. Watergate. She hadn’t had a clue about any of it back then. High school had been her whole world. Dancing to Elton John’s “Crocodile Rock” and watching Sonny and Cher on TV. With long brown hair, long legs, and a miniskirt, she had looked a little like Cher.

This was her first trip back to Adams in years, and it was bittersweet. Her father was gone now, and her mom was in assisted living. Toni, their only child, was putting the family home up for sale. That the timing coincided with her high school reunion felt providential.

She drove out to the now vacant home in the country. Sitting in the driveway, she soaked in the scene around her. The white three-bedroom house was nothing special, and time had taken its toll. But, oh, the land.

A low stone wall separated their field from the next property. A huge old oak tree, devoid of leaves in late November, stood sentry at the border. She could hear the birds. She remembered wildflowers in the summer. Deer passing through. But at seventeen, she hadn’t been looking for serenity. Her ambitions were too big for a small New England town. She left for college and never looked back.

After college, she worked in Boston and New York. She made enough money to travel. She became a gourmet cook. In her mid-thirties, she married an architect. They talked about kids, but it never happened. The last twenty years had been harder. She turned fifty. Then sixty. Friends had children and now, grandchildren. She and the architect divorced. Then, the pandemic.

Still, Toni considered herself lucky; she was healthy and financially secure enough to retire. She could do anything, go anywhere, anytime. She just needed a purpose, a direction.

The reunion was held at a nice nearby hotel. She’d faced scarier bosses and clients in the corporate world, but she was surprised by her nerves as she approached the venue. She smiled at the greeter, picked up her name tag, and took the one open seat at the bar. She was sipping on her gin and tonic, scoping out the crowd with as nonchalant an eye as she could muster, when a tap on her shoulder made her jump.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I wanted to say hello.”

Toni’s eyes met the face of the woman on the next bar stool. Marianne Farrell. Her hair was lighter and she was decades older than the Marianne of 1973. They hadn’t been close, but Toni would have recognized her anywhere. The man with her must be her husband. “Hello, it’s Marianne, right? Long time, no see, as they say. How have you been?”

Marianne leaned over and hugged her like they were old friends. Marianne’s enthusiasm overflowed. “I’m great! Still here in Adams. I never left, except for college. I’m a realtor. How about you?”

“I just retired. I haven’t decided what comes next, but I’m actually looking for a realtor.”

“If you want an endorsement, Marianne’s my realtor, and she’s great!” The man reached his arm across Marianne and shook Toni’s hand. He, too, exuded positive energy as he pumped her hand.

Toni’s face must have registered her confusion. Marianne was a realtor. This friendly man was her client, not her husband?

Marianne interceded. “You remember Don, don’t you? Don Crawford. He’s a veterinarian, part time now.”

A faint memory crept into Toni’s mind. Donald Crawford. A husky outdoorsy guy who moved to Adams midway through high school.

“So are you moving back to Adams?” Marianne asked. She was bouncing around on her barstool like a kid.

Toni was about to respond when the reunion chairperson announced it was time to be seated for dinner. Marianne asked Toni to join them. Toni sat to her right, Don to her left. Over their meal, Toni explained she was selling her parents’ home. Don leaned in, listening intently to the conversation. The discussion shifted to Toni’s career in business and her uncertainty about life after retirement. Don spoke of his veterinary work. He was one of the few vets in the area who treated farm animals, but he was scaling back his practice.

As they finished dessert, Marianne pulled Toni and Don aside. “Toni, I think something magical is happening here.”

Don burst in. “I do too!” He grinned at Toni. “You won’t believe what she’s going to tell you!”

“Toni, Don has been looking for a place to open an animal sanctuary,” Marianne said. “I know your place. I drove by just the other day. I think it could be the perfect property. The acreage, the zoning. I can see it already.”

Speechless, Toni looked at Don and back at Marianne. An animal sanctuary at her old home.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” Don said. “It will be a safe place and a forever home for abused or elderly animals. And, not to complicate things, but if you are looking for something meaningful to do with your business background, I could use your help. I know animals, but there’s a lot of paperwork and financial and managerial stuff at the outset. This could provide the answer we’ve both been looking for.”

“For me, too!” Marianne laughed. She leaned over and whispered in Toni’s ear, “He’s single, by the way.”

The evening’s entertainment, a 70’s cover band, was about to perform. The lead singer stepped to the microphone. “Good evening, Class of 1973. Our first number tonight was the number one song for the year 1973. You’ll all remember ‘Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree’ by Tony Orlando and Dawn.”

“That’s it!” Don said.

Toni nodded. “The Old Oak Sanctuary.”

The eucalyptus burnt down in the hot summer of 2022. One minute the huge tree was there against the skyline and then ‘whoosh’ it was alight in a sparkling red inferno.

The conclusion—it was because of the hottest summer we’d had in the outback for some years.

We could have told anyone that. Even when we dragged our beds out of the house to sleep under the stars at night, the temperature remained humid. Sleep was difficult. Everyone did a lot of stargazing. With no lights, the Milky Way was awesome.

That tree stood on flat land at the end of the houses and at the beginning of the bush. It stood alone and was a gathering place where the women sat and discussed community affairs, children chased each other around it and lovers carved their names in the trunk.

I didn’t know its age, but it had been there since before I was born and before the cattle station, too large to be classified as a farm, had given the land to the community.

I was seventeen when my Mum became crook with cancer. She didn’t complain and often we’d sit under the eucalyptus while she could get about. “When I’m gone, remember love, I’m still watching over you and never more so than around this tree.”

A few weeks later, she died. From that day on, my life spiralled downhill without her stabilising influence. I lost my way and sought oblivion with drugs and alcohol.

I stayed in the town camp with other members of our community. Gran rang a few times a week. “When are you coming back?”

“Soon.” I’d return when my money ran out.

As always, Gran welcomed me home. It was a dry community so drugs and alcohol were banned. I respected that. Each time I appeared, we’d celebrate eating a couple of kangaroo tails, roasted over an open fire.

That particular day, I was meandering towards the tree when it ignited. I wasn’t close enough to be injured. Gran told me I was lucky. If I’d been any closer, I’d be dead.

Somehow, I felt I’d cheated death and I should make good my second chance at life. Six weeks later, I went to Rehab. It was a struggle, but I was determined. After a few months, I came home, completely cured. They aren’t the right words—once a drug addict and alcoholic always one. However, I vowed to stay clean and sober.

It was as though I hadn’t been away when I got back to the community. Gran and other elders were sitting cross-legged on her verandah dot painting on canvas. The paintings sold well in the local town’s cultural centre and boosted their incomes. “Come and join us,” she said.

“I will sometime. But now, I want to visit the old tree.”

“There’s nothing there, love.”

I still went. I saw where the tree had been, though it had been a few months since the fire. Fallen, half-charred branches lay scattered on a wide area of dusty red soil interspersed with tufts of grass. Suddenly, in the middle of everything, I saw long dull green leaves—a sapling was growing.

Thrilled, I ran to tell Gran and her friends. After them, I rushed over to the school to tell everyone. Mrs Brand, the teacher and only white person in the community, gave the children permission to take a look. Of course, we had to have another celebration that evening. Goanna this time.

Over the months, I grew stronger. So did the tree. As it struggled to grow in the harsh climate, it inspired me. I’d make something of my life.

Was Mum sending me a message?

I liked to think so.

Hello all and hope everyone had a great Turkey Day (for those here in the US!).
We have two winners this round and they are both previouis winners! It's wonderful to see everyone using the contest to keep writing and keep winning!!
This week we have @T.E. Bradford for her wonderful story: Convergence
And @AliceO for her touching Elizabeth’s Story!

Congratulations to you both! The new contest starts today and I cannot wait to see the prompts!!!

Story Title:Elizabeth’s Story


Department of Homeland Security Form 194: Proof of Legal Entry into the United States

Even now, I sometimes dream that we are all together. Before Dad and Mom and I left. I was the youngest of five, but my big brother and my sweet sisters stayed behind. I never saw them again. In my dreams, we are still kids, laughing and playing. I wake up and cry.

I was thirteen; I was a child. I didn’t want to leave the only home I knew. My parents said “We are leaving. You’re coming with us.” And that was that. I didn’t choose to be an “illegal alien.” I wasn’t a Martian on a spaceship.

The journey here was one long nightmare. Sixty-six days. We got lost. More than once. Grown men were crying and begging to turn around. We were all piled on top of each other like a load of fish. Inhuman conditions. No privacy. So cold I was either numb or aching all the time. No clean water or bathroom or laundry facilities. Of course, everyone got sick. Hunger. Fever. Diarrhea. Infections. A baby was born during the journey. No stopping. No medicine. The constant reek of dirty clothes, sweaty bodies, rotten teeth, vomit, excrement. A human being died right before my eyes. We just kept going.

Finally, praise God, we made it to America, the Promised Land, the Land of Opportunity and Open Doors. But things were no better. Everything was unfamiliar and strange: the language, the weather, the food, the people. We were still cold and sick and hungry. And unwanted, shunned.

When people talk about us, all you hear about are acts of violence or someone wanting a handout. And I’m sad to say there was some truth to that. But most of us were good people. Doing the best we could.

I can barely speak about what happened next. My father died. And then my mother. I was an orphan. Completely alone, abandoned in a peculiar, terrifying world. My parents left our home country for freedom and a better life. When I was thirteen, I thought only about myself, but they did it for me. They died for me. I miss them every day.

I was now the neediest of the needy. I had nothing. I was desperate. Two of my fellow newcomers were good people. They were “aliens” to some. I called them angels. They took me in. They gave me a home. They saved my life.

And there were some good people in the community who welcomed us. They saw beyond the differences, gave us food, taught us how to live in this bewildering place. They saved our community, even at the expense of their own.

So I survived. I made it through. I’m telling you my story from across the years, so I have to let you know that things got worse again before they got better. Those wonderful people who took me in? A few months later, they died too. My community was being decimated.

This isn’t just a survival story, though. It’s also a love story. Did you guess that already? There was another man, a really good man. John worked for the couple who fostered me. He was a bit older than me, but we’d been through all of the same hardships and tragedies. Under the circumstances, I had to grow up fast.

We were married two years later. We had a baby girl, and then a son. We worked hard. Doors began to open. We became citizens and homeowners. We had a big family - ten children in all. I had my last child, our son Isaac, when I was forty-two years old. We were so blessed. All of our children lived to adulthood. Many we knew were not so fortunate.

All ten of our children married. They gave us eighty-eight grandchildren.My husband lived a good, long life. We had many happy years together. When he passed away, I went to live with my son.

I died, fourteen years later, in 1687. My husband and I have over two million descendants. Among them are three U.S. presidents, a Nobel Prize winner, and scores of others who have made the world a better place. For two frightened undocumented immigrants on the Mayflower, I think we did okay.

Story Title: Convergence

I first saw the door as a child. I’d come in from the pool and got turned around. The hotel halls all looked alike. As tears pooled in my eyes, I found a door with a purple tag with an image of a door. Purple was my favorite color. Perhaps someone in this room could help…


I turned the knob, not remembering it wouldn’t work without the card, and not thinking to knock. A warm rush of air engulfed me as it opened, easing my goosebumps The smell of popcorn, distinct and familiar, drew me inside. The air inside looked misty. Voices called faintly.

“Hello?”

Footsteps sounded. A boy came into view, his thick brown hair messy. He panted, like he’d been running.

“I—I’m sorry if I woke you up…”

He frowned, glancing behind him as more voices clamored.

“Where’d he go?”

“Find him!”

His dark eyes found mine. They glowed like liquid pools of nighttime. “You should go.” He whispered, one hand reaching toward me and the other back, as if to ward away some danger.

Behind him, the mist parted. Buildings spiraled into a sky the color of lemons. I gasped and stepped back.

The door closed.

I stood in the hotel hallway, gasping. The boy had looked as scared as me. I tried the door again.

Locked.

“Mathilda?”

“Momma!” I ran into her arms.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where did you go?”

I looked back, ready to tell her everything, but The door was gone.

“You’re shaking.” She stroked my hair. “Let’s get you into some dry clothes.”

She led me away, but I couldn’t help but wonder about the dark-eyed boy. Who’d been chasing him? Would I ever see him again?




The second time I saw the door, my life changed forever. My friends had good intentions, taking me out to cheer me up after I’d failed the most important test of my college career. But I didn’t want to drink. I only wanted to escape.


“You sure about this, Matty?”

I smiled at my friend, Sarah. “Yeah. I’m just gonna head back to the room. Grab some sleep. I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow, okay?”

I punched the button and the elevator doors slid shut. I leaned back, closing my eyes, grateful to be alone. I didn’t bother to look when the doors hissed open again. I just walked, letting my fingers trail along the wallpaper.

When I looked up, I stood at the end of a hallway.

In front of a door.

The purple tag, its image of a door… where had I seen them before? I touched the handle and the door swung open.

Warm air pushed my hair away from my face. I heard voices, and… music. The soft tones soothed my nerves. I stepped through, following the sound.

Mist-filled air parted, revealing low tables. Sitting at the nearest one, a man with dark eyes. In them, light reflected like stars in an expanse of sky.

“The boy…”

He stood, his eyes wide as he stared at me. “I know you,” he breathed.

I knew him too, of course. The familiarity went beyond having met him once before. He was like a home I’d always missed.

“I’m David.”

My smile was genuine. For the first time in a long while, I felt happy. “I’m Mathilda.”

We talked for hours. About our lives. About the door, and what it must be. Strange as it sounded, we found the discussion easy. Natural. The door somehow connected our universes. And we, connected in a way that went beyond space and time, had found each other not once, but twice.

The lemon-yellow sky was beginning to brighten. We both yawned.

“I should get back. My friends will worry.”

David’s eyes widened. “No!” He extended a hand, and I remembered the moment we’d first met. “What if you can’t get back? I don’t… Stay. Stay here with me.”

Shock rolled through me, but also warmth. I wanted to stay with him, but this wasn’t even my universe. What would my friends do when they couldn’t find me? What would my family think?

I shook my head. “I’m sorry.” My whisper was as broken as his expression.

I got up before he could try and change my mind. The door was only a few steps away, but my feet dragged. My heart didn’t want to leave him.

As I reached for the handle, a hand landed on my shoulder.

“Then I’ll come with you. My Thilda.”




That was three years ago. The day my heart was finally whole. Everything changed. I wasn’t broken anymore. As if my soul had always been only half before him.

And now, I need to find him one last time. My heart. The one who saved me not once, not twice, but three times. Once as a child, from the wicked boys who pursued him. Once when I found him and my heart was restored. And six months ago, when he sacrificed himself to save me, pushing me through the smoke and flame, shielding my body with his own. I’d stumbled out of our apartment building, only to hear the rumble as stone and masonry crumbled behind me.

He couldn’t be dead.

Because my heart was still beating.

He had to have found it…


I close my eyes as I walk down a nondescript hallway. It didn’t matter which hotel. Not really. Just my need, and that I didn’t look too hard.

I know before I open them.

I feel the pull.

I don’t need to see the purple sign. I turn the knob, and the door swings open. A warm breeze ruffles my hair. I squint into the mist, and see a trace of lemon yellow above.

“David?”

“My Thilda?”

Dark eyes like pools of midnight come into view. He stretches out a hand. I hold it tightly before placing it against the gentle swell of my belly, and the wholeness coming to life within.