"Blackout" (A Short Story)

Lately I've taken a newfound interest in creative writing, largely thanks to the Writer's Craft course I've been taking, the prompts my dad and I have been giving each other, and my steadily increasing boredom brought about by quarantine. I'm still new to the world of fiction, but it's been such a thrill to explore new forms and styles. There's something truly rewarding about capturing your innermost (otherwise inexplicable) thoughts by arranging letters on a page, and as intimidating as it can be, it's been refreshing to delve into uncharted writing territory. And that's why creative writing has been so fulfilling for me.

I thought I would share some of my original short stories and poetry here on Reasons Why, starting with a piece of flash fiction:

* * * * *

Blackout

Los Angeles, 1994

When it happened, it was sudden. It was abrupt. It was so unprecedented, so unexpected, so unforeseen. What started as a nearly undetectably soft tremor beneath my slippered feet quickly crescendoed into violent rhythmic convulsions. And then, the lights went out.

Before it happened, everything was exactly how you would expect a Sunday evening in our dreary little apartment. The twins were bickering over a long-forgotten topic. Daddy was taking a nap in his room. The baby was letting out deafening shrieks.

Mama probably forgot to feed her again. I reminded myself to grab some formula from the freezer so it would have time to thaw.

Mama's never home anymore. She spends her weekends in Santa Monica with her business partner (although I've never heard her talk about their business.) She used to leave on Friday afternoon and be back the next morning. But her business trips are getting longer, and nowadays we're lucky if she's home to tuck us in on Sunday night.

When we lost power, August and May instantly paused mid-hair-pull, which was a miracle in itself. Even baby Gwen seemed to notice something was wrong, and her cries quieted into faint little moans. Daddy's been so lost in his own darkness lately that I'm surprised he even noticed the blackout. But sure enough, he woke from his sleep- still wearing his knitted grey turtleneck- and found us in the living room.

Daddy's always reminded me of a little tortoise in that sweater. He's always retreating into his bedroom like a tortoise into its shell.

For a while, all he did was stare through the darkness at the four of us. It was like a scaley little turtle heard was slowly peeping up from its keratin encasing.

"Daddy," I whispered, trying not to startle him back into the shell. "What should we do?"

Maybe it was the way the twins held onto each other, trembling. Or maybe it was little Gwen's helplessly growling stomach. But something finally pulled him from his shell. He started giving orders with an air of authority in an obvious attempt to compensate for his previous absence.

"Go into the pantry and get me some candles." He turned to the twins. "August, go run the formula under some hot water. We'll have to try our best to heat up Gwen's bottles without a stovetop. And May, find me that old handheld radio. There should be batteries in the cabinet."

He commanded us like a drill sergeant and we dutifully listened. An hour later, out apartment was lit with an atmospheric array of scented candles. We had eaten as many perishables from the fridge as we could, fed the baby its lukewarm bottle, and picked up a news signal on our radio.

We sat in the living room in the dark. For the first time in months, Gwen fell asleep in Daddy's arms instead of in the hand-me-down rocker. August played Fur Elise on the piano, and May sat beside her on the little wooden bench with her head resting on her twin sister's shoulder. Daddy looked at me, and through the candle-light flickering on his smiling face, I could tell that he had emerged from his shell.

I took Gwen from his arms, laid her in the crib, and beckoned him onto the balcony. From outside, the sound of August's melody was distant and ghostly. The news was still broadcasting through out little radio, and it echoed across the otherwise silent cityscape.

A 6.7 magnitude earthquake disrupted power lines in Los Angeles at 8:47pm this evening, causing a city-wide blackout. LA's geographical tendencies have caused the city to trap coastal haze and refract light for years, preventing such a discernible view of the Milky Way--

I turned off the radio.

"Daddy?" I asked, taking his arms and draping them around my shoulders. "Do you think Mama is gonna keep coming back from her business trips?"

"I don't know, baby" he said, letting out a defeated sigh. "I guess only time will tell."

"Do you miss having her home?" I asked, leaning onto my tiptoes, squeezing my arms around him, and giving his cheek a kiss. I was scared he would retreat back into his turtle shell the moment I let go.

Daddy gazed down at me thoughtfully.

I turned the radio back on.

On this unanticipated night, the sky is alive with cosmic bodies that until now have been made invisible by our city's light pollution. Stars, galaxies, planets, and satellites are more visible tonight than ever before. 

I looked up at the Milky Way, and Daddy looked down at me. He leaned down and gave me a kiss on the forehead. The twins' muffled laughter could be heard through the balcony's rickety screen door.

Suddenly, the shrill ring of the telephone cut through the night, interrupting my thoughts. Daddy took my hand to lead me back inside.