Summer Rain

A story of a father's reaction to his daughter's death.

It was a hot day, but it didn’t feel like it. The cool summer breeze swept through the park, sending leaves of twilight gold to shower the earth. The laughs and cries of the children soothed the heat like sweet summer rain. If a passerby foreign to the area had walked by, he’d have thought that the idea of the reckoning was insane. That the idea of our mortality was something to scoff. That if the sounds and feelings of this warm summer day could be bottled, than mankind would be divine. All was well.

At 2:45 the bomb went off.

-----

“Sarah!”

I know what I shout as I stumble through the burning playground, blood pouring from my right ear, but I can’t hear it. I can’t hear the screams of parents as they search for their children, dialing 911 in their cell phones while crowds begin to form to watch the blaze. I can’t hear the sirens that ring through the clearings, echoing through the trees. I can’t even hear my own anguished cry as I find Sarah lying beneath the white-hot metal that was once her favorite slide. The metal burns my hands as I tear it away. I snatch her up in my arms, holding her limp body close. I only hear the harsh buzzing of static as I approach the crowd.

“Somebody help me! Please, somebody help!”

-----

I sit alone upon the cold park bench as paramedics and firemen bustle around the playground which is now yellow taped and roped off from the staring crowd. I hold my small wallet photo of Sarah against the white rosemary in my hand, whispering a desperate, pleading prayer over and over again. I stand as the detective who interviewed me approaches. I can tell by the empty look in his eyes what has happened before he even opens his mouth. My knees pop as I hit the ground, my hands pressed against my temples. I’m screaming. I can barely hear but I know I am. I’m screaming out into the hot summer afternoon.

-----

“Do you have the gun I ordered?”

The man nods and pulls the silver revolver from the case. He places it upon the glass counter. I give him my license for the second time. He glances up and meets my eyes as he wipes the barrel of the gun.

“Is this weapon for business or pleasure?”
“Neither.”

He shakes his head and takes out a box of cartridges. I place money on the desk and open the box, taking just one bullet. As I turn to leave the man calls after me.

“Is the pain that bad?”

I answer without looking back.

“It is.”

-----

The news has stopped reporting the attack and moved on to the latest starlet’s rehab run. I switch off the TV and touch my ear. It’s almost healed. Tears run hot down my face. It’s been nearly a month since Sarah died. The funeral was small, like her mother’s. I can see her drawings from across the room, held on the fridge by fruit shaped magnets. I c**k the hammer off the gun, switching off the safety, and press the barrel to the side of my head. My hand shakes as I wrap my finger around the trigger. I can still see her pictures. I can hear her laughing as we watch the latest Land Before Time movie. I feel her against my chest as I carry her from the burning playground. I let the gun drop.

-----

“I want to enlist.”

My bags hang by my shoulders as the sergeant fills the forms. Sarah’s drawings are gone, burned. The house is sold. I still have the wallet photo, the only proof she ever existed, tucked in my back pocket. I step on the bus and watch as the town disappears into the distance, the golden leaves twisting away as the wind picks them up.

-----

“Why are you here?”
“Sir, to fight, sir!”

“What do you fight for?”
“Sir, my country, sir!”

“And who do you fight for?”
“Sir...no one, sir!”

-----

“Sarah!”

I scream as the explosions rattle the makeshift tent. Surprise attack. I push myself up and rush past the flimsy cloth entrance, rifle drawn, firing out into the night. I can’t hear the shouts of the confused soldiers. I can’t hear the muzzle blasts as the rifle grows hot in my hands. I hear Sarah’s laughter as she heads down the playground slide. I hear only the sweet sound of summer rain.

Reviews

[Justin Burning]

This was an interesting story. I especially liked the way you approached the narrative: in sporadic bursts, each giving the reader a little more of an insight into the narrator's situation and emotions. I think I probably would liked to read more, to see his plight expanded a bit. But, as it is, this played out more like a prose poem which worked, as well. Good work, overall!

[HoWiE]

Hey Michael, yeh this is pretty good - I would say this is probably my favourite of what I have read of yours to date. There's not too much to say about this guy's decision to join the Armed Forces following his daughter's death, it's probably the sort of thing you would want to do following this sort of tragedy.

I noticed just one tiny detail in the last paragraph: 'as the explosions rattle the makeshift tent' it is only a small point, lol, you might just want to review the word 'rattle'. Having been around one or two explosions in my time you might want to exchange that for a stronger word - obviously if the explosions are distant, the tent would rattle - if they were close in (as they sound like they are) then look for a slightly stronger word.

Other than that (not that that subtracted from the story in anyway), I thought this was a great write. Nice work mate, cheers! HoWiE ;-)

[w1n9s]

My favorite part was the next to the last sentence of the story: it added even more intensity to the whole, as it made me suddenly realize how painful Sarah's death must have been for her father. That sentence gives another glimpse of reality as it was before the bomb went off, a reality we experience every day... you never know. And that's a dreadful thought.Awesome.

[{Angel Redd}[Formerly A..]

Wow.
You never cease to amaze me, Micheal.
Wonderful. I can't imagine the pain that this guy had to go through; and to come out of a tragedy that claimed his daughter's life while he was only injured---not very badly, i'm guessing, since he was allowed to serve---and manage to gather himself together enough to fight is a tremendous feat. Definitely a fave.

[Gary H]

Thats a really interesting perception of what makes someone become a soldier - and something that is pertinent to both the present day in the 'war against terror' and the Second World War. I guess being British I can draw more on the Second World War and historial figures fighting for those lost in the bombings over our country.
The more I read the more impact this has. Really impressed Micheal.

[Charlie Bone]

def a new emotional level for you mike.
one of the most emotional touching works of yours I've read.
great style as well, the sir yes sir part was haunting.
well done my man.

[The Lovely Sound Of Cra..]

Damn dude... left me in awe again. I haven't read your stuff in quite a while, but it still has it's magic touch...

I mean, dude, Michael, go get paid for this stuff already! lol

Your writings just amazing... descriptions are so vivid and you can picture it all in your head like a movie. Good stuff man.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Love the way this opens and closes. I especially like it where the bomb goes off, the shock is a shock! thats great writing.

[Zephyr]

what can i say? wowthis is a great piece. one of the best parts, in my opinion, was the beginning. a gripping opening is essential to make a good story, and this has a perfect one.

[Raven Held]

This is hauntingly good. I like how you shifted from scene to scene, portraying the different ways different lives are affected.

Thanks for sharing. Keep up the good writes!

Loves,
Raven

[Roberta Weth]

Wow this is just amazing, I want the words to say how this affected me but they just won't come. You took me right in and made me experience this loss as if it were my own. This is a dazzlingly powerful piece and I am both happy and extremely sad that I read it. Thank you for sharing it.
~Bobbi