Happy Seahorses – Flash Fiction

Hello, peoples!

I have another flash fiction here today… but I’ll warn you, it’s another sad one. My sisters have been after me to write some cheerier pieces… and I intend to! But this isn’t one of those happier stories. Something about the prompts I received (seahorses, void, and cold) suggested something sad and reflective…

So here ’tis, in all it’s sad and reflective glory.:)

The air coming from the vents is blowing too hard and too cold. It always does when Mom drives, but she’s scared, and I don’t want to bother her.

Callie’s sleeping next to me, her thumb sliding out of her mouth. Her head is falling to the side, and it lands on my shoulder. She’s out. Completely out. Maybe she won’t notice if I borrow her blanket.

She doesn’t move as I slowly inch it off of her lap and onto mine. I grab big fistfuls of the fabric and pull it to my chin, looking down at the bright, happy-colored seahorses that dance on the blanket. Callie loves seahorses. She says she wants to be one when she grows up. I know that’s silly, but I don’t tell her. I’m old enough to know that you don’t tell anyone their dreams are silly.

I’m also old enough to know more than Mom thinks I know. I can see her eyes now in the rearview mirror. The white parts of her eyes are kind of pink, and shiny. Her eyelids are puffy, too, and there are little dents above her eyebrows. I know that means she’s worried, ’cause that’s what her eyebrows do when Daddy’s late for supper.

Today supper got cold while we waited for him. He never came… the hospital called instead.

Mom says everything will be okay… but I know better.

My finger traces the happy seahorses, and I’m trying not to shiver.

Photo by Sinitta Leunen on Unsplash