Fiction: Gone

This week's optional prompt at Poets and Storytellers United is: a time you surprised yourself. The ending may be a sort of a surprise. I don't know why I went that direction, it just happened. Visit other participants over here.

Fiction: Gone
One hundred feet from the ground, Julia peered down below and then at the man-child beside her. For about half an hour, Ted played games on his phone. 
    Thirteen years ago, Julia was introduced to Ted by common friends at this carnival. Ted thought it was a good idea to ride the rollercoaster to celebrate their engagement but a mechanical failure had stranded them.
    Growing up, Julia had foolishly rebelled on the wrong things and had thought marrying Ted will make up for her mistakes. But ten years of waiting for an engagement had altered her but Ted, he was the same expect the thirty extra pounds.
    It was too late to turn back. Due to his many generosities of lending money to his friends, he earned himself and Julia many debts. When she asked him to get his friends to pay him back, he struck her face, twice. That was the moment she felt like an insect who had been squashed one too many times but still stood in the same place to be squash again and again.
    Slowly, Ted turned away from his phone screen and looked up at her, eyes blinking slowly. He began to hunker down and the phone slipped from his hands and struck against her feet. When she glanced up, Ted was gone but there was a fat fly squatting on the leather seat and it seemed to be gazing at her. Haphazardly, it flew up and away into the dull afternoon sky.
    A sudden drop and the rollercoaster started turning. On the ground, Julia stumbled out of her seat. Clementine, Julia's friend, rushed toward her and said, "I'm glad you're alright. Wasn't Ted with you?"
    Julia shook her head and shrugged. What could she say that didn't sound mad?     
    About nine minutes on the way home with Clementine driving, she exclaimed, "What the heck! That is one chubby fly."
    On the windshield was a fat fly and it seemed to be staring at Julia. Clementine turned on the wipers but the fly didn't move quick enough. A short smear of red was left on the windshield but another swipe and it was gone.

Friday Writings: Tree of Death

I recently found this new blog, Poets and Storytellers United and I thought I try their weekly writing prompts. This week's optional prompt is dead tree, or any other dead tree you’ve seen or imagined. Or by the idea of beauty in death, or last-minute actions that turn out to be important. Or, you may simply ignore the prompt and write anything at all. The word limit is 369 words maximum (excluding title and notes). Visit other participants over here.

Fiction: Tree of Death
He is a common tree and to most humans, he is unseen. And yet, those who are desperate would find him almost by fate. For a long while, he had no name but everyone started calling him Elm and it stuck. Not being an elm, he was appropriately offended but he didn't completely dislike it.
    Every few decades, Elm wakes up in a new place but he is always near a body of water. Currently, he resides beside a beach. The noonday sun only shines on his left side as his other side is blocked by a forty-story hotel. Elm doesn't speculate why this is so. He has learned some things you simply accept as truth.
    For 1,201 days, he hasn't granted a wish to anyone but three days later, a man appears. His eyes are frowning and there is a slow melancholy to his movements. For two hours, he studies Elm before he takes a few steps closer, presses a shaking hand against Elm's trunk and speaks. "I wish to die but nothing too painful, if possible."
    Elm would laugh at the man if he could. How many comes to ask for death but none wants to die in pain? If they want an easy death, Elm would grant them the opposite but not because he is spiteful but because that is what wishing for death does. Many thought death brings peace but it just pauses everything until your next life.
    It doesn't take long and the man experiences every severity of his death.
    It is rare for Elm to ruminate after a death but this man somehow leaves a smudge of sorrow in him. Often, he tries not to think it is life that he takes away even as he grants death. 
    As the wind glides over Elm, and a few leaves fall off his branches, he think of the man and his return. Will he endure the same messes he has left behind? Will he live another unhappy life? Elm sighs but makes no sound. Life would be peaceful if death never reaches him.