Fiction: Twenty-Three Steps To Goodbye by Terry A. Elkins

United Service Organizations

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Martha Brentwood stood stoic against the first arctic gale of the season, as she waited for the number-seven to carry her to Saint Ann’s Cathedral for the sixth time in two years.  A trip she never got used to.  The harsh breath of winter bit at her as rabid flecks of crystalline powdered snow threatened to bury her where she stood.  Her mourning-black Cashmere coat was faded by time, and it did nothing to cover her bare hands, but she didn’t shiver, she didn’t blink, and she didn’t move.  Her heart was warmed by the precious memories of Anna, as she recalled their first encounter at the fourth street USO where they both worked so many years ago…Lost in her memories she hadn’t heard the number-seven slide to a halt in front of her—she was somewhere in time. 

A barrel chested man bounced off the bus with the grace of a younger man.  His chiseled features, leather skin, and gray hair—all marked by time, gave him the look of distinguished charm, contrasted only by his simple black slacks, and weathered pea coat.  Blinded by the snow he stumbled to a halt mere inches from the statuesque beauty before him.  Her soft-powdered-pale skin was nearly lost in the backdrop of winter’s fury.  But her sea-green eyes and luscious ruby lips cast a luminescent glow like a watch keepers lantern meant to guide lost sailors home.  He knew this beauty,  and rusted memories of a love long past broke free from their moors as he recalled a four day furlough, a sailors first kiss, an enchanted honey moon, and a sobered divorce sent first class mail from Normandy.

“Martha—Martha, are you ok dear?”  Martha was pulled back into the ferocity of the storm as her memories faded back into the shadows of yesteryear. 

“Excuse me, do I know you?”  Martha asked. 

“It’s me, your ex-husband, John Brentwood.”  As frozen tears of remembrance welled in her eyes, John asked, “Where are you going, Martha?” 

“I’m going to say good bye to an old friend at Saint Ann’s.” 

“Me too,” John said, “but why are you standing here?” 

“I’m waiting for the number-seven to take me there,” Martha said with a tremble in her voice. 

“Martha, honey, you’re standing in front of Saint Ann’s.”

Startled by this revelation, Maratha’s knees buckled and John reached out to her.  As they clasped hands, the cold-cheap -gold bands they had given one another over half a century ago were reunited.  But this reunion was cut short by the somber chimes of funeral bells.

They turned, facing the marble steps of Saint Ann’s, solemnly remembering why they were there.  It was Anna who had introduced them all those years ago, it was Anna who had brought them together on this day, and it was Anna they were going to see.  Arm in arm, walking silently, they faded into the storm as they climbed the last twenty-three steps to good-bye.   

The End

***** 

Terry Elkins is a factory worker who lives in Northwest Indiana.  A former Marine, husband, and father to six children, he loves to to read, learn, and write.  He is an aspiring writer who recently started his own blog to share his passion for writing with the world.  He hopes to one day publish his work.  www.whyguys.wordpress.com

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A Shout Out To Pitt

The Cathedral of Learning as viewed from the F...

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The Old Soldier just came from a walk through the campus of the University of Pittsburgh and it brought back fond memories.

Hello, baby boomers, bloggers, college students, creative writers and my Flash Fiction Fanatics.  The Old Soldier was a graduate student in the writing program at Pitt from 2003 to 2006.  It wasn’t that long ago.  The students were out in force today.  I use to teach undergraduates as a graduate student. 

It was at Pitt that I put the finishing touches on my theory of “show don’t tell” fiction.  I know many of my professors would be surprised that not only do I write literary flash fiction but that I also write erotica and XXX-rated flash fiction.

Still, I do what I do well and one reason why I do it well is because of the University of Pittsburgh.

Here’s a story for you: A Young Woman’s Lust

Vietnam War Veteran Saved By Writing Flash Fiction

Just came back from my walk.  It’s another warm and sunny day in Pittsburgh.  I walked through the campus of the University of Pittsburgh and through Schenley Park.  Joggers were jogging and students were sunbathing.

From Schenley Park I ended up in South Oakland and back on campus.  So, for the hell of it I decided to walk through Wesley W. Posvar Hall.  I wore a Pitt baseball cap and a Pitt t-shirt but for good measure I checked my wallet to see if I still had my Pitt I.D.  Yes I did.  If security stopped me I could at least claim that I was an alumnus, graduating class 2006 of the MFA fiction writing program.

Walking through campus really brought back memories.  My memories of Vietnam and my memories of being an undergrad and then a graduate student at Pitt from 1999 to 2006 all went into my ebook.  Writing the stories about Vietnam was mainly therapy.  The stories based on being at Pitt were about fun.  Download your copy of Compressionism: The Pittsburgh Stories now.

Flash Fiction For Thanksgiving 2009

The Old Soldier hasn’t forgotten that tomorrow is Thanksgiving.  I’ve got my beer and ‘DVE is playing “Monster” by Steppenwolf.  Man, does that song bring back memories for the Old Soldier.  What a great rock song from the Vietnam era.  I hope I spelled the name of the band correctly.

Well, I don’t write flash fiction for any particular holiday; but I thought over the Thanksgiving Holiday you might like to read some of the flash fiction published by the Gazette that gets the most hits. 

So, here’s the first one: Girls Gone Wild

This is the Old Soldier drinking beer, listening to ‘DVE playing Black Sabbath, blogging and reporting from Oakland in the heart of the City of Pittsburgh.

For This Writer Pittsburgh Is My Paris

Hemingway is my favorite writer and of course I’ve read everything of his that I could get my hands on.  I’ve read most of his novels, short stories and non-fiction several times.  I’m not bragging, just blogging the facts.  I read “A Movable Feast” several times.  The book was about Hemingway’s life in Paris when he was young and learning to write.

The way he felt about Paris is the way I feel about Pittsburgh.  It is a fine American city with plenty of culture, commerce and spots.  It has several distinct ethnic neighborhoods.  It has my memories of my own youth.  The city was backdrop to my stories and flash fiction when I was a young man.  It is the backdrop of my very short stories now that I’m an old man.

Sex, Booze and a Short Memory (A Short Story)

The Death of Karaoke (A Short Story)

The Last Nude Photos (A Short Story)

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