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Author: Michael Seese


Scott stared back at Benjamin and Becky, snuggled and sleeping soundly in their car seats. In that moment, the future felt close, as if it were sitting in the car beside him.

A son . . .
Legos. Lincoln Logs. Cub Scouts. Little League.

A daughter . . .
Dress up. Makeup. Tea parties. Plush pink animal friends.

A son . . .
The bittersweet man-to-little-man talk. Explaining that broken hearts do mend. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week. But that someday, he’d be able to see her in the hall, and not feel his heart in his throat.

A daughter . . .
Trying to remain stoic. Trying to contain the butterflies. Trying to wave casually, bravely, as she left on her first car date.

A son . . .
Jumping up and down, screaming. Cheering along with forty thousand other fans. Watching him circle the bases after hitting the home run that won the World Series.

A daughter . . .
Walking her down the aisle. Kissing his baby girl’s cheek. Giving her hand to a fine young man, who would promise to love, honor, and obey.

As the muddy waters of the river rose, engulfing the car—his time running out—the present overtook the future and demanded an answer.

Which one?

Flash Fiction by Michael Seese
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