Short Story

Read and cast your vote for my friend's short story! The imagery is beautiful!
http://www.bookrix.com/_title-en-aaron-redfern-stories-about-the-rain

Night Without Power

In spite of the lack of electricity, the previous two nights were still abuzz with noise and activity, as the radio blared and broadcasters rambled on.  Other than this, all of us remained silently engrossed in listening to the radio jargon, reading or our own thoughts, while gazing into the brightly burning orange flames of the fire.  It felt as if we had never lost power, as if the television had somehow risen above this obstacle, as the radio ran on long into the night in its place.

Yet, tonight, the radio was switched off in mid-evening, partly due to the disc jockey’s tired old rant on United States immigrants.  I seized the opportunity to entertain, enlighten, and share something of my world, and I offered to continue aloud my reading of Under the Sea Wind, written by Rachel Carson.  She spins a captivating narrative of the beauty, danger, and reality of life at sea and within the coastal waters from first-hand perspectives of a variety of species from the birds in the sky to the fish in the sea.  She introduces all of the creatures encountered along the life journeys of each of her characters and paints detailed pictures of the places that they might call home.  The key characters are given names to make their stories more personal, so that we might identify with their struggles and rejoice in their successes. 

As I read, I recalled my days as a child, huddled under covers next to one of my parents, listening to a bedtime story.  It was as if our roles had reversed, although, I don’t believe that I put anyone to sleep, since there was no snoring coming from the direction of my dad’s seat on the couch.  We finished the book and seemed to remain in quiet contemplation.

I roasted marshmallows for everyone and my fingertips and face burned from my nearness to the flames.  It was an in credible shift in temperature, as a slight chill had been creeping over me at the opposite end of the room, while I had sat in the rocking chair, reading with a fleece blanket in my lap. 

Now, as I write, only the crackling of the fire and the restless movements of my dad are the only noises that remain, as nighttime settles about the house.