RICOCHET
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
To move from bed to anywhere is always the hardest. This day it was the couch. Harry slumped forward and studied his overgrown toenails. At least they are clean. An involuntary scratch of hair well beyond cutting caused another sigh. How do others plan their time? With a grunt, he formed the classic standing position and faced another decision. Back to bed or visit the kitchen. Who finished the orange juice, and the milk smells questionable? I should get a personal shopper. A simple life is my aim, remember this idea.
Once outside, his morning outlook brightened. Surprised to see it was a cloudless day with a welcoming fresh breeze. Perhaps a trip to the store could wait until tomorrow. Halfway to the mountain trail entrance, Harry screamed a curse to the car windshield. Who needs a cellphone on a simple two-hour hike? Why waste gas on a drive back home he admonished himself, be intelligent. Good news for once, he lucked out, grabbing the only remaining parking spot. Do I need a jacket? A visual weather check confirmed the extra weight was unnecessary. Yes, simple decisions work as he gave himself a virtual pat on the back.
Feeling a welcoming sweat, and realizing a strenuous workout got the neurons firing, he took a fresh path up a steep incline. What a cool trail to stumble upon as it now led down to an unknown rock wash with gorgeous Jack Pines forming on both sides. Eons of water pressure smoothed the ever larger boulders as he clamored up the dry riverbed. A fresh idea to remember. Rock climbing gets the old ticker cranked up. He paused, looking around, Harry felt satisfaction with being alone. Just me and nature. Count to fifty, pause, catch your breath, keep climbing as you count another fifty.
What the hell, he thought, feeling rain come out of nowhere. Dumbfounded, he did another weather check. Where is that cloudless sky, nothing changes this fast? Soaking wet within five minutes, he stopped, sat on a rock ledge and considered his predicament. A shiver and a stomach cramp hitting at the same time signaled the realization he had not eaten since the previous evening. A heated exchange of thoughts battled within his mind. Good job senior, no cellphone, no jacket, no food, no idea where you are, anything else for the list, you idiot.
Harry took a deep breath, realizing that negative thinking would only get him in greater trouble. So far today he was acting like the steel ball in a pinball machine, ricocheting from one poor decision to another. Be the person who controls the flippers, he admonished himself. First decision, stop climbing the wash, you have no clue where it leads, retrace your steps back down and find that path. Just as he started the decent, the god of rain opened the floodgates and he slipped off a bolder falling sideways into rocks below. His left shoulder took the brunt of impact while an ankle got wedged. When had he cried last, genuine cries of pain, anguish, fear? All he could utter was a pitiful “Please, please, I need help.” After resting, he gained limited progress by scooting on his bottom with legs extended and pushing against the rocks with his palms. The Jack Pines seemed thicker than he had remembered, and the dark sky combined with a heavy downpour obscured any trails on either side of the decline.
The wash was no longer dry, and each minute brought an increasing flow of water. Harry awoke to the risk of a flash flood. Two choices, move to the tree line, wait, or take the risk and continue the decent. The water was slowly lifting him off the rocks and his body was working like a kayak going down rapids. He found a limited ability to steer by maintaining a stiffness and then rotating from one side to another.
Perhaps his nervous system was on overload, but even the frequent banging on and against rocks did not deter his decision to go for it. As he gained speed, he yelled out with new found exhilaration, “Pinball wizard banks the steel ball into the 1000 hole, what a shot!” At last a tree opening appeared further down on his left. Surely this was his path back home as he fought to reach the side. Harry flipped over and could rotate around. Face forward and on his stomach, he was now better able to claw and pull toward the shore. Suddenly, just as he was nearing the clearing, a massive increased flow of water pulled him back to the center and he helplessly sped past his planned escape. Now spinning in somersaults, he glimpsed an impending waterfall ahead. Roll to the side, he challenged himself, roll, roll harder. As if in slow motion, and like a camera’s shutter freezing for a moment, he could feel the free fall.
THUD. Hitting the floor, his eyes snapped open and bright sunlight coming from the window caused a sharp pain somewhere behind the socket. Harry felt his shoulder, no pain. Grabbing his ankles and massaging the bones signaled he was alive and in one piece. He laughed and cried out, “Look at me, I’m a modern day Scrooge.” With a renewed spirt, he clamored up, pulled off the months old sheets and made the bed with a fresh set. The kitchen beckoned his attention, and within an hour, the counters, sink, and floor glistened. The move to the living room was at a slower pace. This mess could fill an afternoon, Harry mused. Perhaps a shower and shave would be a better option. The last steel ball was launched. Lights were flashing, and buzzers were ringing as he thought of his freshly made bed. Climbing under the covers, and sinking his head into the pillow, the ball slipped into the drain and the sign appeared, “Game over, hang in there, try again.”
RICHARD SWAIN
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
To move from bed to anywhere is always the hardest. This day it was the couch. Harry slumped forward and studied his overgrown toenails. At least they are clean. An involuntary scratch of hair well beyond cutting caused another sigh. How do others plan their time? With a grunt, he formed the classic standing position and faced another decision. Back to bed or visit the kitchen. Who finished the orange juice, and the milk smells questionable? I should get a personal shopper. A simple life is my aim, remember this idea.
Once outside, his morning outlook brightened. Surprised to see it was a cloudless day with a welcoming fresh breeze. Perhaps a trip to the store could wait until tomorrow. Halfway to the mountain trail entrance, Harry screamed a curse to the car windshield. Who needs a cellphone on a simple two-hour hike? Why waste gas on a drive back home he admonished himself, be intelligent. Good news for once, he lucked out, grabbing the only remaining parking spot. Do I need a jacket? A visual weather check confirmed the extra weight was unnecessary. Yes, simple decisions work as he gave himself a virtual pat on the back.
Feeling a welcoming sweat, and realizing a strenuous workout got the neurons firing, he took a fresh path up a steep incline. What a cool trail to stumble upon as it now led down to an unknown rock wash with gorgeous Jack Pines forming on both sides. Eons of water pressure smoothed the ever larger boulders as he clamored up the dry riverbed. A fresh idea to remember. Rock climbing gets the old ticker cranked up. He paused, looking around, Harry felt satisfaction with being alone. Just me and nature. Count to fifty, pause, catch your breath, keep climbing as you count another fifty.
What the hell, he thought, feeling rain come out of nowhere. Dumbfounded, he did another weather check. Where is that cloudless sky, nothing changes this fast? Soaking wet within five minutes, he stopped, sat on a rock ledge and considered his predicament. A shiver and a stomach cramp hitting at the same time signaled the realization he had not eaten since the previous evening. A heated exchange of thoughts battled within his mind. Good job senior, no cellphone, no jacket, no food, no idea where you are, anything else for the list, you idiot.
Harry took a deep breath, realizing that negative thinking would only get him in greater trouble. So far today he was acting like the steel ball in a pinball machine, ricocheting from one poor decision to another. Be the person who controls the flippers, he admonished himself. First decision, stop climbing the wash, you have no clue where it leads, retrace your steps back down and find that path. Just as he started the decent, the god of rain opened the floodgates and he slipped off a bolder falling sideways into rocks below. His left shoulder took the brunt of impact while an ankle got wedged. When had he cried last, genuine cries of pain, anguish, fear? All he could utter was a pitiful “Please, please, I need help.” After resting, he gained limited progress by scooting on his bottom with legs extended and pushing against the rocks with his palms. The Jack Pines seemed thicker than he had remembered, and the dark sky combined with a heavy downpour obscured any trails on either side of the decline.
The wash was no longer dry, and each minute brought an increasing flow of water. Harry awoke to the risk of a flash flood. Two choices, move to the tree line, wait, or take the risk and continue the decent. The water was slowly lifting him off the rocks and his body was working like a kayak going down rapids. He found a limited ability to steer by maintaining a stiffness and then rotating from one side to another.
Perhaps his nervous system was on overload, but even the frequent banging on and against rocks did not deter his decision to go for it. As he gained speed, he yelled out with new found exhilaration, “Pinball wizard banks the steel ball into the 1000 hole, what a shot!” At last a tree opening appeared further down on his left. Surely this was his path back home as he fought to reach the side. Harry flipped over and could rotate around. Face forward and on his stomach, he was now better able to claw and pull toward the shore. Suddenly, just as he was nearing the clearing, a massive increased flow of water pulled him back to the center and he helplessly sped past his planned escape. Now spinning in somersaults, he glimpsed an impending waterfall ahead. Roll to the side, he challenged himself, roll, roll harder. As if in slow motion, and like a camera’s shutter freezing for a moment, he could feel the free fall.
THUD. Hitting the floor, his eyes snapped open and bright sunlight coming from the window caused a sharp pain somewhere behind the socket. Harry felt his shoulder, no pain. Grabbing his ankles and massaging the bones signaled he was alive and in one piece. He laughed and cried out, “Look at me, I’m a modern day Scrooge.” With a renewed spirt, he clamored up, pulled off the months old sheets and made the bed with a fresh set. The kitchen beckoned his attention, and within an hour, the counters, sink, and floor glistened. The move to the living room was at a slower pace. This mess could fill an afternoon, Harry mused. Perhaps a shower and shave would be a better option. The last steel ball was launched. Lights were flashing, and buzzers were ringing as he thought of his freshly made bed. Climbing under the covers, and sinking his head into the pillow, the ball slipped into the drain and the sign appeared, “Game over, hang in there, try again.”
RICHARD SWAIN