Entry #6

Still Standing
by Dianne Lindstrom


"Weather's comin', Ma."

Hearing her son's voice, Ida leaned over the kitchen sink to see what was going on. The sky was green. She turned away from the window.

Walking briskly past the couch, she grabbed the sleeping cat. Then Ida grabbed a flashlight and went down the inside cellar stairs, closing the door behind her.

As she put the flashlight on the rickety wooden table, the outside doors opened with a whoosh. Her son was there, fighting the wind to get the doors closed. He won.

"Tornado's headin' this direction," locking the doors with a heavy chain and padlock. Turning to face his mother, the young man took off his coat.

"We're safe now," she indicated an old overstuffed chair. "Come sit down and we'll play some cards 'til it's over."

Dropping into the chair, his mother moved the wooden table close to him. After dragging a wooden chair to it, she sat and took the playing cards out of the box and shuffled them.

Just then the most god-awful roar engulfed them. The cat streaked behind the ancient washing machine while the mother and son froze where they were. In an instant, the ceiling was gone and they could see the dirt and debris circling above their heads. Neither one moved. As quickly as it happened, it was gone. And so was their house.

As they climbed the stairs together, the only thing they could see was one lone tree – still standing.


[Dianne Lindstrom writes flash fiction stories. She's also working on a novel. If you'd like to see more of her work, please contact her at dlindstrom at diannelindstrom.com.]