This post is comprised of a story I’d written for a Christian radio station writing contest. I’m pulling it out of the file for two reasons: First, I needed a post today. Second, I didn’t win. So, it was just hanging out there and needed to be seen.
These flash fiction pieces are not deeply edited. In fact, they’re usually pretty sparse. But it is worth every penny of your subscription fees. If you don’t agree, let me know and I’ll arrange a refund. You don’t have to memorize this intro, but don’t be surprised if you see it again soon: I have another story to deposit on this blog that’s from the same contest, different year.
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Roadtrip
In many ways it made perfect sense to wear the red shirt: it hid the blood stains.
An hour before, when Larry was trying to decide which shirt he was going to wear pie stains were the order of the day. White was out of the question. No other color offered anything except a long day of stain removal. Red it was.
The Fourth of July was the perfect day for a cherry pie-eating contest. Everything about it screamed patriotism, right down to the vanilla and blueberry ice cream cones that were on the menu for the crowd.
Larry had volunteered to help with the contest this past winter. His associates were over the top patriots with a joy in simple fun. Janessa baked the best cherry pie for miles around – they’d sampled them last week. Larry couldn’t so much as scoop ice cream without instructions, but he was the clean up man and he figured the red shirt would hide some of the damage from half-eaten cherry pies.
He left a bit early for the park, knowing the crowd would be huge. He’d have time to grab a cup of coffee on the way. He’d loaded an extra box of contractor trash bags into the bed of his truck and a couple of gallons of bleach. He was going to clean the stage properly and leave it cleaner than when they’d started.
Turning right onto Jefferson, Larry spotted the convenience store where his favorite clerk would have the coffee ready. He pulled in with a smile on his face. Hamid was a good kid, kept things ship shape and brewed a fresh pot every hour. Larry knew that ten after the hour was the perfect time to visit – the pot would be 2 minutes old or less.
As he reached for it, the door crashed open, catching Larry full in the face. He hit the sidewalk hard and only had a glimpse of a pair of khaki pants running toward the road. A moment later, the squeal of tires assaulted his ears.
Larry struggled to his feet and went into the store. “Hamid, what the heck is going on around here – that guy just knocked me over.” Silence as deep as the desert night greeted his words. The tang of cordite and fresh coffee assaulted his nose. The sight of Hamid sprawled in a pool of blood and hot coffee polluted his eyes.
Larry dropped down next to the young man and checked for a pulse. It was there, but with all that blood it wouldn’t be for long. Larry rolled Hamid over on his side and found the entry wound just above the third rib. Grabbing a handful of coffee filters from the counter, Larry stuffed them down on the wound and applied pressure. He tapped his blue-tooth and summoned the police and ambulance with the other hand.
Hamid’s eyes opened and he spoke just above a whisper. “Pastor Larry, I am glad you came. I have been robbed. They shot me.”
Larry cradled the young man in his arms and helped him sit up to ease his breathing. “It’s alright, Hamid, the ambulance is coming.”
“No, Pastor Larry, it will not be good. I have seen wounds like this in my country. I will die. Please let my parents know. Their number is in my phone.”
Larry began praying out loud that God would speed the ambulance on its way. Hamid put his hand on Larry’s forearm and said, “Your Jesus, will he take me now? Or is it too late?”
“It’s never too late, Hamid. All you have to do is ask Him to enter His kingdom. Ask that he forgives your sins. I can help with the words if you want.”
Hamid coughed and struggled to breathe “I have thought of this often. You are a good man and your Jesus loves me as I am, no? I ask, Jesus, take me as one of your children, like Pastor Larry says. I beg you forgive my sins. I have tried to be good but missed many prayers here. Forgive me. Bless my parents. And Pastor Larry.”
Larry could see that Hamid would not make it until the ambulance arrived. He held him close to his chest and said, “He accepts you, Hamid. You will see him very soon. I will call your mom and dad.“
No response came from Hamid as he burbled his final breaths. Less than 2 minutes after being shot, he went limp and blood ceased to weep through the coffee filters. Larry held the young man to his chest and silently prayed.
The doors blew open as police and firemen rushed in to take control. One of the cops grabbed Larry’s hand and helped him to his feet. The officer looked at his hand in disgust. “Man, you’re covered in blood.”
“I guess we’re all covered in His blood today. Seems like the red shirt was the perfect choice.”
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