| General Fiction posted June 27, 2023 |
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A mother has a recurring nightmare
The Camping Trip
by Mario PIERRE
Ruth climbs out of her sleeping bag, opens the tent flap and peers out. The dazzling sunlight flooding the sandy beach forces her to squint to make them out. ‘This place is so crowded,’ she reflects. Isaiah’s laughter finally alerts her and she spots him in the water, playing with Jonas. Amid exuberant giggles and clumsy somersaults, her son seems to be having the time of his life with his dad. In fact, that’s what he adamantly requested for his tenth birthday: going on a camping trip as a family.
A slight shiver runs along her back as Ruth suddenly realises how happy they all are. She smiles and slides back to a peaceful somnolence. A moment later, a distant clamour jolts her out of sleep. Her heart thudding, Ruth tears out of the tent and races wildly toward the commotion. A few men are lifting an inanimate body from the lake, which they now carry to the beach. A smothering sense of panic grips Ruth. She screams and falls to her knees as she recognizes Isaiah. “My son!” she moans. “Where is Jonas? Where’s his dad? He was playing with him. Jonas, where are you?”
Her husband is nowhere to be found. “Do something, please!” Ruth pleads to the onlookers. But then a strange thing happens: the small crowd gathers into a circle around Isaiah’s body and begins to jump up and down, laughing morbidly while waving distorted fingers at the lifeless child on the sand. Ruth opens her mouth to protest, to ask them to stop their crazy behaviour, but no sound comes out. She attempts to shove the spectators away from her son, but her whole being is locked. Paralyzed.
She can only watch in agony.
The crowd is now humming. The hum soon turns into weeping.
The wailing amplifies until it crescendoes into a loud and discordant cacophony. Ruth squeezes her eyelids and crushes her ears with her palms. When she opens her eyes again, she sees the people leaving silently in Indian file, until she’s the only one left, with Isaiah.
Something urges her to look up. Dark-striated clouds are rushing across the sky, shrouding the sun which struggles to weave in and out of the contorted masses. The beach is suddenly plunged into obscurity, and a deafening roar of thunder erupts through the air.
Ruth lowers herself onto Isaiah’s cold body and wraps her arms around him.
"My poor baby. Don’t be scared, mommy is here.” Ruth murmurs.
Only then is she able to cry.
When the noise fades away, Ruth hears a voice calling her name: “Ruuuth… Ruuuth…”
It’s a warped and warbled distant echo. She can’t see anyone with the fog hovering over the water but she knows it’s Jonas’s voice. “Where are you?” she shouts.
A tap on her shoulder makes her turn around. Jonas squats beside her, a grave look on his ashen face. “Honey! Will you please stop crying?”
“Jonas?” Ruth whispers in a husky voice. “Where’d you go?”
“I’ve been here all the time, sweetheart.”
“No, you weren’t! You left him to die. You are a filthy monster, Jonas! You didn’t do anything to save our only son!”
“Ruth, please, it saddens me to see you torturing yourself like that, every single day. That’s why you’re having all these bad dreams. Wake up now, honey. Isaiah is well and happy. He’s giggling all the time there and nothing can happen to him now. And… and I keep watch on him.”
“WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?” Ruth exclaims. “Our Isaiah is alive? Oh my God!”
She sits upright as if propelled by a spring. The moon glow streams through the lace-bordered window in a pale, purple radiance that bathes the bedroom in light. Ruth stares straight at the wall facing her bed. A picture of Jonas carrying Isaiah piggyback hangs there. Both boys with flashing smiles, waving to the cellphone camera.
Ruth took that picture a month ago, during their family camping trip.
The one from which she returned home devastated.
Alone.
Dream Story contest entry
Ruth climbs out of her sleeping bag, opens the tent flap and peers out. The dazzling sunlight flooding the sandy beach forces her to squint to make them out. ‘This place is so crowded,’ she reflects. Isaiah’s laughter finally alerts her and she spots him in the water, playing with Jonas. Amid exuberant giggles and clumsy somersaults, her son seems to be having the time of his life with his dad. In fact, that’s what he adamantly requested for his tenth birthday: going on a camping trip as a family.
A slight shiver runs along her back as Ruth suddenly realises how happy they all are. She smiles and slides back to a peaceful somnolence. A moment later, a distant clamour jolts her out of sleep. Her heart thudding, Ruth tears out of the tent and races wildly toward the commotion. A few men are lifting an inanimate body from the lake, which they now carry to the beach. A smothering sense of panic grips Ruth. She screams and falls to her knees as she recognizes Isaiah. “My son!” she moans. “Where is Jonas? Where’s his dad? He was playing with him. Jonas, where are you?”
Her husband is nowhere to be found. “Do something, please!” Ruth pleads to the onlookers. But then a strange thing happens: the small crowd gathers into a circle around Isaiah’s body and begins to jump up and down, laughing morbidly while waving distorted fingers at the lifeless child on the sand. Ruth opens her mouth to protest, to ask them to stop their crazy behaviour, but no sound comes out. She attempts to shove the spectators away from her son, but her whole being is locked. Paralyzed.
She can only watch in agony.
The crowd is now humming. The hum soon turns into weeping.
The wailing amplifies until it crescendoes into a loud and discordant cacophony. Ruth squeezes her eyelids and crushes her ears with her palms. When she opens her eyes again, she sees the people leaving silently in Indian file, until she’s the only one left, with Isaiah.
Something urges her to look up. Dark-striated clouds are rushing across the sky, shrouding the sun which struggles to weave in and out of the contorted masses. The beach is suddenly plunged into obscurity, and a deafening roar of thunder erupts through the air.
Ruth lowers herself onto Isaiah’s cold body and wraps her arms around him.
"My poor baby. Don’t be scared, mommy is here.” Ruth murmurs.
Only then is she able to cry.
When the noise fades away, Ruth hears a voice calling her name: “Ruuuth… Ruuuth…”
It’s a warped and warbled distant echo. She can’t see anyone with the fog hovering over the water but she knows it’s Jonas’s voice. “Where are you?” she shouts.
A tap on her shoulder makes her turn around. Jonas squats beside her, a grave look on his ashen face. “Honey! Will you please stop crying?”
“Jonas?” Ruth whispers in a husky voice. “Where’d you go?”
“I’ve been here all the time, sweetheart.”
“No, you weren’t! You left him to die. You are a filthy monster, Jonas! You didn’t do anything to save our only son!”
“Ruth, please, it saddens me to see you torturing yourself like that, every single day. That’s why you’re having all these bad dreams. Wake up now, honey. Isaiah is well and happy. He’s giggling all the time there and nothing can happen to him now. And… and I keep watch on him.”
“WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?” Ruth exclaims. “Our Isaiah is alive? Oh my God!”
She sits upright as if propelled by a spring. The moon glow streams through the lace-bordered window in a pale, purple radiance that bathes the bedroom in light. Ruth stares straight at the wall facing her bed. A picture of Jonas carrying Isaiah piggyback hangs there. Both boys with flashing smiles, waving to the cellphone camera.
Ruth took that picture a month ago, during their family camping trip.
The one from which she returned home devastated.
Alone.
 Recognized |
Artwork by seshadri_sreenivasan at FanArtReview.com
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