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I've been looking in on the writers group for a while. Would like some critique on a series of short stories that will become a long story. Appreciate your support and criticism. Not sensitive so a few punches are OK.
The Storm or A Breathe of Fresh Air by Dick Mullen
“Finally!” The old women spoke loudly so I would notice her. She waited for me to ask, Finally? I just waited looking out at the white caps being beheaded by the wind. “It’s over, eh?” she said again, trying to get me involved. I remain silent. She walked away toward a group of fisherman. I heard her say, “Finally!” They continued talking among themselves. She was right though. The storm was finally dying out. But, the damage was done.
I am too old to care about storms. They come, they go and no matter how much damage they do the town always smells clean and fresh, after. I was a doctor but I lost interest. Now, I just wait and watch inhaling the after-storm air. The sun is breaking through as the last of the dark gray clouds try to hang on. Ah, there is the bright blue sky.
The old woman says, “Elaina and her son are gone! Washed Away! She moves her lips silently, maybe praying. Her dark, deep-set eyes follow a group of children as they rummage through the wreckage. I should help with the injured but I just don’t want to move from this place, right now. I accept the storms. I am at peace. There is a sorrowful cry close by, “Elaina? Pedro? Now this? My god!” It is a younger women’s voice.
The fishermen walk toward me. I suppose they will want me to help with the injured. Two break off from the group. One bends down and gently brushes my eyelids closed. Then he takes my hands, the other my legs and they carry me toward my house. Jesus says, “He refused to leave, what could we do?” The other says softly, “he was old”.
The End
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