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markmurphywrites.com

Tag: Flash Fiction

  • The Choice at High Camp

    An unsettling fog rolled over the mountains at night, turning tree branches into crystal chandeliers and freezing my windowpanes shut.  At least the snow had subsided.  I put on boots and stepped outside to check for an unobstructed flue, the fog chilling my bare legs and chest.  Clear flue, cleared to add fuel to the stove.  I wondered if even the smoke would be able to penetrate this fog?  

    I’d set out for my high camp on a mild and breezy Wednesday afternoon. The snow drifts and narrow trails were impassable this time of year with all but a snowmobile, and mine had been in pieces in the garage for the better part of two years now.  I liked snowshoeing into camp though, cold air filling my lungs, testing my legs on the winding ascent.  Besides, machines are unreliable in the freezing temperatures and wet snow.  

    A hair over three miles later and the A-frame was in site.  Plenty of game tracks on my way in, but nothing too close to the cabin.  Squirrels had nestled into the firewood shelter when they couldn’t break into the cabin.  No sign of humans tampering with the place or trying to run off with the split wood.  The start of a great long weekend.  

    As happens in the Rocky Mountain high country, a twenty-five percent chance for snow turned into a three-day dump.  I can’t say that I minded too much.  This was meant to be a retreat from the grind of work and the busy streets in town.  Hiking, reading, writing, and quiet.  The hiking mostly got replaced by shoveling, keeping a path cleared for the necessities:  The flue, the outhouse, and the firewood.  

    Now it’s a foggy Sunday morning.  I have enough rations to make the hike back down to the trailhead today, but if I stay another night, I’ll just go hungry in the morning.  The fire in the old stove is burning bright, the A-frame warm and cozy.  Choices, choices. Pack it up and set out for home at noon?  Stay stripped up here, fasting, listening for words of wisdom?  I don’t feel like getting dressed yet.  

  • Why We Go North

    I followed him down the stairs, watching his hunched shoulders and lowered head express more than words could say.  We both scanned the main floor for accessories he might have left behind.  I checked the outlets for a random cord and swept my boot under the couch, fishing for a stray magazine.  Nothing turned up, so it’s time to hit the road.  

    Dan stopped through my little backwoods hometown on his way north.  He and I had been friends for more than a decade now.  Meeting in college, egging each other into and out of bad decisions, roasting each other, laughing at our tragic relationships.  That’s partly what brought Dan here.  He was moving to Minnesota for reasons only he understood.  The air was better, the lakes were plentiful, he needed a change, he needed an adventure.  There was tragedy under it all.  

    Dan had been dating Jamie for several months, and it all seemed to be going well.  He talked about her perfectly shaped hands, manicured nails, soft touch.  I naturally laughed at his sensitivity.  It wasn’t long before he was talking about sharing his apartment.  It was in a better location, situated on a large park, an easy commute for them both.  All the practical reasons on the table, but Dan too afraid of my teasing to just say he was falling for her.  Then there was talk of engagement when it happened.  A traffic accident, and she was gone.  I went for the funeral and fled soon after.  My gut told me to spend more time with him, but my mind was too afraid of sharing the intimacy.  I just left.  

    And so Dan decided to go north.  Finding a tech job in Minneapolis was no different than finding a tech job in Dallas he said.  Air, lakes, change, and adventure were all positive and plausible alibis, though I’d argue smog and traffic in Minneapolis-Saint Paul wasn’t any better than smog and traffic in Dallas-Fort Worth.  But the process raised his shoulders and lifted his head again.  For a little while.  Until this morning.  

    Despite my general negativity and sarcastic view of life, Dan chose to come here.  He surrounded himself with my friends and family, and he received love.  My mom and sister were kind and attentive, talking with him or at him for hours. I took Dan out running and began to understand his heartache.  No part of my old self wanted to go north.  I didn’t care for long drives, and I didn’t want to take time off of work right now.  Me me me.  But then Dan came.  He showed his heart.  He accepted our support.  He was vulnerable.  He chose me.  

    I grabbed Dan by the shoulder and followed him out of the house.  It smelled of wet oak leaves as I locked the front door, and suddenly I was struck by how beautiful this day would be.  I swallowed hard and refused a tear.  As Dan started the car, I finally understood why we were going north.