Luis Morale wiped the sweat from his eyes and continued through the forest heat. His beard was scraggy, his clothes dirty, his legs weak, and his ears hummed. Luis couldn’t remember why he was walking or where he was. Then he saw the burnt-out car, its doors and windows missing; it reminded him of his car, of home, of a beautiful woman, the smell of the sea, then the boat, the screams, of women shielding children, men holding women, of his trip to Bermuda. There was a white flash, heat, silence, and then he was no longer onboard. Memories swept in, but ebbed far away when he tried to chase them — receding into years of nothingness. Then, in the distance, through the trees, the beautiful woman stood singing an old Puerto Rican love song. He knew her name — Gabriela, his wife. Luis smiled and cried, swept back the leaves, and walked for hours, enticed by her song, without getting nearer.
In response to: FFfAW Challenge-Week of March 14, 2017
Image: Tim Livingston
Many thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.