EVELYN DORN
Bio
Stories (2/0)
A STRANGER FOUND
It is dark and the damp air hangs heavy about me. I know what comes next, it is the sound of explosions and the bright light they cause. I tremble with fear and cower into the corner of the hill side. With each moment that passes the sound is louder and the flashes more intense; my heart beats faster. I feel the end is close and that any moment the explosion will be so close I will not be able to escape it. Through the brush I see a dark figure approaching. I pray, to save me from this peril. His hand reaches for me and then a sudden flash of light blinds me and his words are lost in the blast. My throat closes in fear and my scream silent as I suddenly sit up soaked in sweat, the covers tossed all about the bed. I hear my husband ask, “What’s wrong?” I tell him it was my usual recurring nightmare. Who was this faceless stranger coming to my rescue? I leaned back and put my head on the pillow hoping I would be able to relax enough to fall back asleep. All I could think of is why, why do I have this recurring nightmare. Later that morning I awoke and had a moment of clarity, I decided to find my father.
By EVELYN DORN2 years ago in Families
Black Bird, Bye Bye
The pallbearers mournfully placed the sleek gray casket in the hearse. I closed my eyes; I couldn’t look. The funeral director arranged the last of the flowers around the casket and slammed shut the door to the hearse. That harsh sound brought me back to a nightmarish reality that had started a month earlier—the day I drove to Gram’s apartment in Queens. There she stood, patiently waiting for me at the curb on Astoria Boulevard, oblivious to inner city dangers. Her body, once full bosomed and well padded, was now so small and thin that it all but disappeared in the folds of her black jersey knit blouse and pants. She clutched, with one had, her red cape just below the neck to keep the brisk spring air from her chest; with the other, she reached for my hand as I opened the van door to help her to her seat. Over the last few years, glaucoma and cataracts had fogged her vision and stripped the twinkle from her eyes, leaving only her voice to reflect her usual high-spirited frame of mind. Today, however, she appeared troubled and uncomfortable. Her shrill complaints about her failing health, the terrible things happening around the world, and all the members of her family who work so hard at paying her no mind were made continuously throughout our trip. I glanced at her through the rearview mirror. Her feathery dark brown hair separated from her once handsome soft pink face by a halo of gray hair, now crowned a deathlike ashen mask with features hardened, sharp, and deeply lined with seventy-five years of living. We pulled into the Medical Center parking lot. As our eyes met, it was apparent that we both sensed the impending outcome of her visit to the physician.
By EVELYN DORN2 years ago in Families