Drew Fisher (short fiction)

Following is a very short story that I wrote at two am...I mean-what else is there to do at this awful hour when sleep evades you? LR



Drew Fisher was dead.
Only seconds before, he was standing on his Boston balcony overlooking the Charles, when he was struck down as if by the hand of Almighty God. The object crashed into his skull, exploding it like a melon assaulted by a sledgehammer. This was certainly one for the 'Odd Happenings' section in those free travel rags which litter newsstands in every truck stop in the land.
Drew couldn't sleep that night. He had fallen reluctantly out of bed at the wee hour of 2am, made a beeline to the toilet to do his business and then, out of sheer habit, went to the kitchen and started the coffee brewing. Before he realized the time, he was already mentally working into his day, which awakened him even more. He switched on the computer to check his email – no sense putting that off, he thought. After going through the fluff and Spam he clicked on the email that he had been avoiding for two days. The sender was 'The office of Dr. Harry Durham, General Practitioner'. Drew's doctor was a no nonsense kind of guy-the type of physician who was usually good with good news and better with the bad. His round, jovial face and self-assured demeanor lent an aura of trust to the man, and you believed that whatever he told you was God's will. Just accept and all will be right with your world. Drew didn't buy into this bullshit. He suspected the lump in his throat was more than just a seasonal sore throat, and, since he was a heavy smoker, he had almost anticipated that something like this would befall his later years. Hell, he'd had bad news before and this was certainly no different from many of the life challenges that he'd faced.
He opened the email and slowly read it's contents. “Mr Fisher, We have tried repeatedly to reach you by phone. We send this email in lieu of being able to reach you at the number you've given this office.
Your test results are in and Dr. Durham would like to see you by Friday. Please contact this office immediately to set this urgent appointment”.
So there it was. Even the good doctor's receptionist was by the book. To the point. “God I need a smoke”, sighed Drew.

The pilot waited on the tarmac while the ground crew pored over the leading edge of his left wing, searching the tips for any sign of damage. After striking a large bird upon landing, the pilot wanted a close inspection and he soon decided to go over and have a look for himself. He had annihilated several birds before during takeoffs and landings but never one of this bird's size and weight. “Must have been a vulture or a chicken hawk” thought the pilot. Big one for sure. The ground crew, after rubbing the wing and shaking it to check for noise, decided that the small dent near the port engine was sound and cleared the plane for flight
Satisfied, the pilot mounted the cockpit, listened as the engines roared to life and contacted the tower for clearance for takeoff. Only the questions from the co-pilot competed with the drone of the engines. Had the pilot listened a bit closer he would have heard the small vibrating sound on the left wing.

Drew stepped out into the chilly air of his balcony. This time of year saw the temperatures drop drastically at night, clearing the skies for a fantastic view of the stars and Cambridge across the river.
A cold wind seemed to blow directly from Harvard, unusual in itself as Harvard seems to spew more hot air than cold. Drew pulled his robe up over his ears and went through the all too familiar habit of opening the new pack of Camels and knocking the first ciggy out of the pack. It felt good between his fingers and he knew that the craving would soon be quenched. He reached for his lighter and then had second thoughts about lighting up. “My God, what am I doing?” he thought. “Here I am, sitting on the news of throat cancer, and I'm lighting up”. He flicked the Bic and the small yellow-blue flame suddenly seemed to warm the space around him. He fumbled with the cigarette for a moment and then slowly moved the flame close to the tip. As he took his first draw, the pain in his throat almost caused him to wretch. He would try another draw. The same pain, followed by a hacking cough. He tossed the cigarette over the balcony and silently took stock.

“Boston Tower to Venture 1761, veer two degrees south to clear for incoming 747.”
“Roger Boston Tower, veering two degrees south. Have a great night guys”
“Roger that Venture 1761. Thanks and have a nice flight”.
The force of the tailwind seemed to give the plane an extra 20 knots speed. This would more than make up for the slight delay caused by the shift in direction. The turbulence from the wind also increased the vibration on the wing. The wing was sturdy but something was causing a noise immediately above the left engine bracket. The pilot couldn't hear the sound over the drone of the engines.

Drew looked up at the stars and searched his soul for an answer, any answer. He then bowed his head. “God, I know that you know what's best for me. Please help me through this one. I know that I haven't been the best child of yours, but please, just help me to give up these damned cigarettes. And if it's your will, give me a sign that you're here for me”. As he lifted his head back towards the heavens he saw a bright,beautiful light. It appeared to be a bright star shining from the north, only it seemed to brighten more as Drew stared at it. Was this the sign from God? Was this his 'star from heaven'? Drew felt a peace like he'd never felt before.

The plane went through a wall of air that seemed to shake it to it's very core. Although the evening was crystal clear, a front was moving it's way from the north, mixing with a system coming out of the west and shaking everything in it's path. The violent disturbance caused the craft to fall almost 20 feet before overcoming the wind and pitching back up to 7000 feet. The pilot heard the faint sound of a single knock on the left side of the plane, as if the plane had hit another bird. The vibration noise subsided.

Drew stared at the oncoming light like a disciple seeing his maker approach. He stood in awe, wondering if he was about to be raptured. Then he saw the green flashing light and realized that this was only a plane. His spirits sunk with the realization that God had failed him yet again. The uncertain test results, the inability to quit smoking, his relationship woes, all came flooding back into his thoughts.
As the plane passed over his head he casually said “Thanks God”.
The 4 inch bolt from the engine mount of the plane was traveling at close to 200mph when it exploded Drew's skull.
Drew Fisher was indeed dead.