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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Emotional · #2263969
Bad weather stands between a dad and his son. [Daily Flash Fiction, 12-24-21]
The Christmas present

Red and blue lights chased each other across the windows, reflected in multiple directions by the banks of snow which, come springtime, would once again be bushes and shrubs. There were so many reflections, it almost looked like a laser light show. At the moment, though, they were just so many red or blue daggers to my heart, killing me with the news that my son had been killed in a car crash on his way home for the holidays. It had been snowing hard since late last night, and Dennis would have had to drive through every inch of it.

I stayed on the couch, staring at the front door. Maybe if I didn't get up, it wouldn't be true. I heard two car doors slam and wondered who the sheriff had brought along. Pastor Davis? Some grief counselor? I didn't want to know. The doorbell chimed once, twice. I finally forced myself to get up, then slowly made my way to the door. I opened it, resigned to hearing that my life no longer had any meaning.

"Evening, Rick," said Sheriff Tolliver. "I found something of yours stuck in a car leaning against a tree a mile or so away. Seems fine, though." He stepped aside to reveal his companion.

"Merry Christmas, Dad."

There were so many pops and cracks when I hugged him, you'd have thought I was a chiropractor and had just done a successful adjustment. I looked at the sheriff, who was wearing a smile about two sizes too big for his face.

"Kevin! If you don't come in and have at least one cup of coffee, I'll be hanged if I wish you a Merry Christmas!"

[WC: 297]

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