Now and For Always

By E. Steven Newby

Billy Sheffield knows everything that will happen in his life. He knows what troubles will force him to leave the sleepy Arkansas town of his youth. He knows what awaits him in the jungles of Vietnam. He knows the joys and sorrows of the life that awaits him with a woman whose face he has seen foreseen as long as he can remember. But he could never begin to imagine how his intense psychic ability wasn't the true gift. Seeing the future was the consequence of something much worse...

• Language: English
• Publisher: E. Steven Newby
• Release date: Aug 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301039296

E. Steven Newby

My short stories and essays have won numerous awards and have appeared in various magazines (including Story Teller Magazine and Nova Scifi), websites and newspapers. My first novel, The Rogue Navigator, is available now through Terrapin Hollow Press, in paperback, ebook and audiobook formats. I live in rural Arkansas, where I homestead on the banks of the Little Red River. I also homeschool my two children and am am passionate about environmentally friendly construction techniques/practices. We are currently building an Earthship.

Book preview

NOW AND FOR ALWAYS

E. Steven Newby

Copyright 2013© E. Steven Newby and Terrapin Hollow Press

This short story is being distributed free for enjoyment purposes only. It may not be modified in any way without the permission of the author. If you liked this short story, please encourage others to download it at Smashwords.com, or visit the author’s webpage, listed below. This is a work of fiction; any likeness to actual people or events is coincidental.

All Rights Reserved.

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Smashwords Edition

I woke tasting dirt.

My heart raced so hard it shook the corn husk mattress. I tried to push the dead leaves away from my face, but it was only my blanket. Just a dream. I wanted to call out to Ma, but I was ashamed. When I closed my eyes from the thin moonlight laid out on the earthen floor, I could see that woman’s face. She was old, right? But no, perhaps not. Can’t remember right. There was so much…

Just a dream.

I pulled the blanket up against the cold and a looming sense of disappointment; it was almost that time of the year when Pa started banking the fire for the nights. I curled on my side in a tight ball, just like in the dream, waited for the shivering to stop. Bits and pieces came back to me, like fog on the treetops come morning, and there’s war and a stupid dog and Frankie’s broken or sick, him and me eating strawberry ice cream, and there’s that woman… And throughout it all, or what I can remember of it, I feel so tired.

And in that last moment, just before I had awoken: hope. But when I did opened my eyes, when I knew where I was, I found gnawing at the still night a deepening sadness.

Come morning, I could remember almost nothing of the dream. That’s how dreams go, Ma often said, and it’s just as well because I don’t think it was a good dream. Or maybe it had been good but became somehow twisted, like a big beautiful mulberry tree sprouting missile toe. Like the way nightmares creep up on a person…

There were chores to do on the farm. Always. The morning was downright cold, and for half a heartbeat I thought it felt good to breathe good clean country air. The rooster stared me down as I filled their water and collected eggs. I thought of chucking one or two of the eggs at him, but Pa would tan my hide if I did that again, so I washed them off with water from the well and brought them to Ma. She made grits and an egg, gave me a baked potato from yesterday for my lunch.

Why you starin’ at the table like that, Billy? asked Ma, busy at the stove.

I didn’t know what to tell her.

Heard you stirrin’ last night. Feelin’ okay?

Yes, Ma.

Then finish your breakfast.

I shoveled in the rest of the food, gathered up my schoolbag. Then out the door and running. Pa headed down the lane in the opposite direction, past the split-rail fence and along the trail cutting into the woods. I wasn’t allowed to go down there, wasn’t allowed to see the field of marijuana.