The Understanding
The young boy picks up a coin that has rolled to his feet. It is warm, too warm considering the cold air streaming around him. While he searches for the coin's origins, police cordon off the street ahead. The next block has vanished behind an expanding wall of dust and smoke. At first the sound, the sensation of the explosions seemed like part of the city to the boy of six years, but the reactions of those nearest to him counteract the thought. He lifts the coin into the daylight: dark blotches of grease dull the elaborate carvings, distort the lettering. His other hand, grasped by his mother, is nearly asleep she holds it so tight. He asks her, “What's going to happen now, Mommy?” She is a long time answering. The initial wave of people fleeing past them, toward an idea of safety, begins to give way to those surging into the distorted scene, speaking of their blood, the most valuable currency now. The boy looks to his mother, her eyes trained toward the site of the bombing. “Now,” she says, not entirely to her son, nor to anyone in particular. “Now, we help each other.”
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Author's Note
For Boston, Bangladesh, Texas, Oklahoma, now France, and far too many others.
Thanks for reading and sharing and being good people.
June 2013.
Don't go, Matt. This is wonderful. A+ *
With best wishes for the future and thanks for the past, including this fine piece.
"The idea of safety..." There's no other kind of safety. This is a sober reminder.
Enjoyed this very much. So much happens at once, it's a dangerous situation, yet there's also a sense of things happening in slow motion, an idea or need for the idea of safety. Well done. *
Good work, Matt. Your writing presence will be missed.
I had the pleasure of seeing an earlier draft of this. You've done an outstanding job with this Matthew J. Gave me a chill.
" blood, the most valuable currency now."
Powerful line there.
I won't miss you.
I *know* where you *live* Bwaaaa-haaaaa-haaaaaaa!
Thanks so much for the kind words, all. I won't be far (the internet renders distance obsolete).
Sally, you want some? Come and get some!
Remember what happened last time you said that...
You know...the Restraining Order thing...
Restraining Order Shashmading Order.
That's not what you told the judge.
"the internet renders distance obsolete"
That is, however, what *I* told the judge.
(Your writing will be greatly missed here).
I appreciate this story as the only imagined one like it I may have read, ever, indicating gaps in my short story reading or gaps in very short story publishing. I love it, and that says something to me about the power of writing to reach and heal, an aloe vera stalk. *
Very kind of you to say, Ann. Thank you.
Nicely done, with just enough being said. Poignant without being preachy. Thank you. Good stuff.
Powerful piece of work. *
Thank you, Darryl & John.
Late in arriving to the party, but glad I made it. Good work here. Best wishes.*
Thanks, Gary.
“Now,” she says, not entirely to her son, nor to anyone in particular. “Now, we help each other.”
Killer end. Perfect.
*
"the last story I intend to post"
That's an intention, not a vow. Feel free to change your mind. We'd all welcome that any time. Best to you, Matt!
Thanks so much, Bill. We will see!
"The initial wave of people fleeing past them, toward an idea of safety"
So much said in such a small space.*
Appreciate the read, Amanda.
Outstanding work, especially the end. *
I thought of the story again later, while driving. The end is so purely the subject, the question, the answer, the reason, not for all people or readers, but here, determined here. Each other line builds the story for the boy who sees and feels to know. The line Amanda notes returns in memory as well.
The Sun seems like a possible journal for it.
http://thesunmagazine.org/
Thanks so much for your further, kind comments, Ann, and for the market suggestion, as well. The Sun is a good magazine, for sure. I'll think about it.
The best & the worst of humanity always go hand in hand.
Will miss your work here Matt, tweet when it's in pubs, okay?
Good work. Powerful.*
Very nuanced yet really hits the heart.
I'm sorry I didn't get to know you before you decided to leave. (I'm new here.) But I'll be looking for you in online literary land. Good luck!
Frankie - Oh, I'll be tweeting.
John - Glad it moved you.
Charlotte - Welcome to Fictionaut! It's a damn good place with damn good people. You're in good hands.
Thank you very much, you three!
Hey, how'd this get to the top of the Reco list?
Who'd you pay?
(Shhh. Whisper it in my ear. I won't tell anyone.)
;)
Several remorseless occurrences of espionage and sabotage, I'm afraid.
Matt, this is a great piece. From the rolling coin, to the currency of blood, to the last lines of dialogue. It reminds me of something someone posted after the Boston Marathon bombing, a parent told his son to watch for the helpers - in every bloody, gory, despairing news stories, there are always rescuers and do gooders on the sidelines and in the background picking up the pieces, donating blood, working quiet and diligent as ants rebuilding their communities. Your story reminds me and readers of that. I agree with Bill's sentiment, an intention, not a vow. I hope to read more here or elsewhere when the time is right.
The tension and the fear in a moment that seems to stand still, the time seems to dilate and then the gem ending of philanthropy-one of the most beautiful human characteristics.* Intentions are made to be broken. Come on. You know you want to. Write us another story. :-)
Thanks for the comment, Quirina!
We'll see about another story...
Oh brilliant. This one packs one helluva punch. Absolutely LOVED it!