Daily Flash Fiction Challenge

The Last Gift -

We hadn't been home from camping more than 10 minutes when the door slammed open; a doorstop bent and still vibrating, open. "It's gone! It's gone!" screamed Trevor with dilated eyes, outstretched, shaking hands and anxious lips tight with nervous vulnerability. "We have to find it!"

And with that, a panicked plea for help turned to an eight-year old's now tear laden face of despair, as shoulders eased from tense alertness to a gradual slump of acceptance.

"Oh no! Not the bike - not the bike too.", he added on his way to the comfort of the floor.

Before I could turn down the volume on the TV and stand from my chair, he fell. First to his knees, and then in what seemed like slow motion, all the way to his stomach, flat on the floor just inside the front door; a crumpled little vibrating mess. Heather had reached her huddled son from the kitchen and was attempting to break his two-fisted grip on the carpet that appeared to be more the result of a fear that somehow the whole house would get suddenly yanked-out from underneath him, than the need to express frustration or anger over the loss of a bike.

And why not? I thought. It wasn't but a month ago that his mother and I had packed up all their belongings, including a new bike his father had given him and "yanked-out" the only life he had ever known. And now, even that last gift was gone. Surely his new life needed to have its carpet held onto with all the might a young man could muster. Right? Of course. I concluded.

- dcl