Mending Broken Wings Flash Fiction Contest: Cyneburg's Field
- Reads 76
- Votes 5
- Parts 5
MatureOngoing23m
Last published Sun, Aug 2, 2015
This short story was written for a Flash Fiction challenge based on a set of clues found at the following link: https://mendingbrokenwings.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post-new.php?post_type=page.
Summary:
The only time I had ever seen my father cry was September 23, 1955 - the day James Dean died. It was such a shock, if anyone appeared to be invincible it was certainly James Dean, but reality is he was human like the rest of us; his passing a surreal realization that death does not discriminate, the Grim Reaper comes for us all, but sometimes before he is supposed to.
Just so happens, James Dean died the same day my father received his draft card for Viet Nam. Before long James Dean’s death would be but a shadow in relation to the death and destruction my father would experience firsthand of many he loved.
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I stand outside my home broken and shattered, who I am I don't know. I stare at my ever pale hands and try to see what made me like this from under my skin, but I guess I wasn't given that kind of gift but I have in me some form of powers that seemed to have brought me misfortune. I owe this all to my dad because if he never met my mom maybe just maybe I would have been born normal. I wish I wasn't born a freak, born a hybrid.
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