Written with the prompts:  maniac, nostalgic, random lines, every head turned, Melba looking at books, lights flickered, dairy dog, Jimmy heard, we can have pets, future island, bad shit going down, construction, helicopter, drums, no luggage, not a mistake, new normal, give them the finger

Melba looked up from her book when she heard Jimmy bark.  She patted the dog’s head and shushed him gently.  Still every head turned, the helicopter pilot and the other passengers, eying Melba with what she could only imagine was disdain.  She straightened her back, and stared back fiercely.  This was the new normal and if she expected to get any respect at all, she was going to have to claim it outright.  Oh, she was tempted to give every last one of them the finger, but instead she yawned in their faces and returned her attention to her book.  It was science fiction, either Ray Bradbury or Ursula LeGuin.  She wasn’t even sure—since she was only pretending to read.  The lights flickered and the others jumped perceptively, then they thankfully turned away from her.  Melba sighed in relief.

When the maniacs in charge started drawing random lines in the sand, Melba knew she needed to prep for a quick escape.  Yeah, she knew she should do that, but she didn’t do it.  All she did was make provisions for Jimmy, her rescue dog.  He used to be a dairy dog, herding the cows up the hills in spring, then back down in fall, standing guard every damn day.  He was as vigilant as they come.  He was nearly lame now, but he had a vital spirit, and a heart as big as all outdoors.  Melba would never leave him behind.  When the construction collapsed, all she cared about was bundling him up and getting the two of them onto a copter.  Bad shit was going down, but as long as she had Jimmy, she knew she’d be okay.

Drums were beating, she swore she could hear them, as she raced on her motorcycle to the airport.  She had no luggage, only Jimmy’s carrier stashed in the sidecar.  

The pilot looked at her.  “What are you going to do when we get there?” he asked in a rhetorical tone as if surely she realized how ill-prepared she was.  “This is not a mistake,” she asserted.

He hesitated and she stepped forward, pulling Jimmy within inches of the pilot’s crotch.  “It’s allowed,” she said authoritatively. “We can have pets.”

He stepped back and let her in.

Now Melba leaned toward the window, nostalgic for the flights she used to take with her late husband.  The landscape was pristine back then, the river lacing through gold and green fields like blue thread through a quilt.  Today she saw nothing but smoke.

She closed her eyes, falling into a deep trance.  Somewhere below was an ocean of gems, a future island, a paradise for old women and dogs.

Photo by Leio McLaren on Unsplash