A piece of flash fiction

Raging Waters

By

Darrell Vincent

Rain pounds down. Pools of water abound.

Lloyd and his daughter Faith are engaged in an impassioned discussion about whether Lloyd should venture out as the angry snarl of nature rumbles on the other side of the walls. "Daddy you have to go see if he’s ok." Faith shouts "I have never seen such intense rain in my life time, it's biblical Faith! You want me risking my life to see if Bills’ just ok? Perhaps the rain will knock some of the filth off him," Lloyd says as a smirk emerges across his face. Bill is Lloyd’s future son-in-law who has a well-toned body decorated with colorful tattoos, and adorned with body piercings he constructed while in the joint. "Not funny even though I know you’re joking," Faith says. Tears begin to dot Faith's checks and pool at the end of her chin.

Lloyd rolls out of his barn, flicks the windshield wipers on maximum and splashes down the driveway. Lloyd, a third generation farmer, dressed in his shit stained coveralls, has a wrinkled; hole infested seed cap smashed on his head. He’s griping the wheel of his mammoth John Deer four-wheel, six-tire tractor with his eight-and half fingered, hardened hands and descends down the long narrow, unmaintained road, towards the valley.

Lloyd reaches the bottom of the valley and shines a beacon of light where he knows the first campsite is; it’s gone, replaced with water. He advances on. Shines the light and spots a trailer with a huge tree impaled in the side of it. Shines the light around the area, seeing nothing, pulls the gearshift lever down and proceeds. He scours the angry river as he moves forward and spots several trailers bobbing in the current.

Lloyd searches further up river and spots Bill clinging to the top of his trailer and advances slowly toward a flattened area; then stops for a moment. With his hands clasped behind his head he aimlessly gazes at the ceiling of the cab, searching for guidance. After several minutes he disgustingly SLAMS the shift-lever to low and forges ahead as the water hammers against his tractor.

Lloyd approaches the trailer and maneuvers as close as possible, straining; he reaches behind the seat for a rope.

Lloyd exits the cab, plants himself on the fender of the tractor, prepares to toss the rope to Bill when he hears one of his high prized Texas Longhorn Steer BELLOWING in distress. He squints in the direction of the Longhorn, can’t see it, steps toward the cab, opens the door, hesitates, and hesitates longer, SLAMS the door closed and grabs the rope again. Lloyd flings the rope over; it falls short and gathers it back. Lloyd launches the rope again and Bill snatches it and hastily ties it around his waist.

Bill eases himself into the water and is swept into the raging current. Lloyd grabs the rope tighter; Bill’s weight and the force of the water make it extremely difficult for Lloyd to pull Bill in. Lloyd grimaces in pain as he slowly pulls Bill towards the tractor.

Lloyd hears his prize Texas Longhorn Steer again and he spins toward the sound.

Two rows of three men stand in their Sunday best at the rear of a hearse. The funeral director rolls the casket out. The six men grab the handles and ascend up the steps.