Microfiction Thanksgiving: “Is This Heaven?”

Is This Heaven?

A sharp note, the glass shattering.  A deeper note, then, the screech of metal.  The smell of rubber, a hint of engine fluids, the smell of blood…

The delicate tinkle of all the little bits and pieces falling to the ground around me.

No time for even a blink, then it all changed.  The colors were gone, the reds and blacks and greens replaced by blacks and whites.  

I stood, on legs that shouldn’t have been able to stand.  I stood and looked to the door to my right, the door that was opening with just the barest hint of a creak.  No other sound in that place, not even my heart.  Just the creak of the door.

He was my height, the one that stepped through that door.  My height, and the hint of my features in his face.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, a sad note under that voice.  “I’ve been waiting, but I never thought it would this soon.”

Confusion, then.  Worse than any drink, than any drug, my mind spun and wandered and refused to focus.

“Who…?  What…?” I stuttered.

He smiled, and I could see…something.  Love?  Peace?  Fulfillment?  It was all there.  It wasn’t mine, but it was there, and I could feel the edges of it.  I should know that face, I thought.  It was the memory of a friend, lost in time.  It was family, long forgotten.

“Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand, “and I’ll explain everything.”

“What the hell is this?” I hesitated, my voice faltering and failing.

I stood unmoving, frozen and afraid.  Unable to move, to be honest.  I didn’t understand the feelings that were coming, the feelings I hadn’t felt for…decades.

“Come with me,” he replied.  “It’s time to come home, Dad.”



I’m not going to get into where this story came from, it’s too complicated…and too personal.  The only genesis I’ll offer is an old-ish movie titled What Dreams May Come.  The rest, however…the rest is mine, not yours.  As ever, however, there is a song for that.  Although it didn’t inspire or drive the story above, it certainly fits:

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