by Peter Wright
The train churns along, but the engine is already a quarter mile down river, and I know this time the silence following the last car won’t be all mine. Flashlights poke between the turning wheels, and I clutch the gun in my bandaged hand, wondering how many bullets I have left (in my thoughts, a YouTube video, Fran’s bedroom, the cloud-house, my parents gone and my hair still long), and I wish I’d checked the clip when I had a quiet moment but I’m afraid to do it now, the fear the bullets will clatter to the stones and be lost in the dark. The river stretches before me, the white expanse, the black sky. I unzip my jacket, my left hand grasping the crucifix. With a deep breath, I press the gun’s muzzle against my heart. Snow catches along the barrel.
I close my eyes, and I see you, mom, and I cry because I don’t want you to worry, because I know there’s nothing that hurt you more than my pain. I cry because I see you, dad, because you taught me about the world’s wonders, and here I am, prepared to snuff the most wonderful of them all, an insult to God and science, and I picture my heart punctured and bleeding out, the domino-falling goodnight of my systems. I see you, Heather, and I’m right beside you, and it kills me you had to be alone when the fullness of your pain pushed you from the ledge. And I see with your eyes, Heather, and I see with your eyes, dad—your last conscious moments, a perch high above the earth, a carnival ride’s perspective. The muzzle taps my sternum, and I scream, my cry meeting the train’s rumble, overtaking it. Then silence, and I lower the gun and stand.
There’s snow atop the ice, yet with each step, I feel the slickness beneath, the going smooth at first then the ridges and slants, and below me, the churn of the buried current, and you’re right beside me, dad, those frigid mornings we came here to marvel at the beauty of ice, its teardrops on weighted branches, the nooks between the stones, and I hear your stories of those who tried to cross to the other shore. “Only a fool tempts nature.”
Steam escapes my chapped lips. “Yes, dad.”
“I used to be afraid when you climbed our oak.”
I smile. “You were proud, too.”
“I was.”
The train’s final car passes, and I hear the shouting and walkie-talkies. My steps battle the slickness, the heaved slabs. The breeze’s bite deeper here, the river’s openness, this reduction to ice and sky. A glance back. Flashlights sweep the shore and brush. Voices like the bark of dogs. Ahead, a horizon of bare trees, and here on the ice, I belong to neither shore.
A light falls upon me, then another, and I stop. The shine at my back, and although I know it can’t be true, I swear the light carries both heat and weight. I think of death and picture it as a moment, a period, and I think of the story that has come before, the richness of love and warmth and the blood that’s washed over my gifts and good fortune and my surrender to the horrible tide.
I turn and squint into the starshine glare. Voices call from the light, harsh commands undercut by the wind and the ice’s groan. If death is a period, then let me be the one who puts pen to paper. Let me dictate the last flickers of my thoughts and heart. I aim the gun into the brightest light and squeeze off a single shot. The kick in my hand, a ripple of bone and muscle. I breathe, waiting, savoring the night’s deep, cold sting.
About the Author
Curtis Smith has published over one hundred stories and essays, and his work has been cited by or included in The Best American Short Stories, The Best American Mystery Stories, The Best American Spiritual Writing, The Best Small Fictions, and the Norton anthology New Micro. His books include five story collections, two essay collections, and a book of creative nonfiction. The Magpie's Return is his fifth novel.
Acknowledgments
With deep and humble thanks to Peter Wright, for his assistance with the manuscript’s edits, and to Lisa Kastner, for giving this story a home.
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And as always, with unending love to my wife and son. Nothing would be possible without their inspiration and support.
Past Titles
Running Wild Stories Anthology, Volume 1
Running Wild Anthology of Novellas, Volume 1
Jersey Diner by Lisa Diane Kastner
The Kidnapped by Dwight L. Wilson
Running Wild Stories Anthology, Volume 2
Running Wild Novella Anthology, Volume 2, Part 1 & 2
Running Wild Novella Anthology, Volume 3, Books 1, 2, 3
Running Wild Stories Anthology, Volume 3
Running Wild’s Best of 2017, AWP Special Edition
Running Wild’s Best of 2018
Build Your Music Career From Scratch, Second Edition by Andrae Alexander
Writers Resist: Anthology 2018 with featured editors Sara Marchant and Kit-Bacon Gressitt
Frontal Matter: Glue Gone Wild by Suzanne Samples
Mickey: The Giveaway Boy by Robert M. Shafer
Dark Corners by Reuben “Tihi” Hayslett
The Resistors by Dwight L. Wilson
Legendary by Amelia Kibbie
Christine, Released by E.a. Burke
Open My Eyes by T. E. Hahn
Turing’s Graveyard by Terence Hawkins
Running Wild Anthology of Stories, Volume 4
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Running Wild Novella Anthology, Volume 4
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Tough Love at Mystic Bay by Elizabeth Sowden
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Magpie’s Return by Curtis Smith
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