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This is an entry for @jayna's 250 word micro-fiction contest in collaboration with the #freewrite community and @FreeWriteHouse. This week's prompt is "beacon". Here is a link to the original post so you can read about the contest and join in!

No Beacon of Salvation

The school bus rumbles up to the stop sign. Tammy reluctantly looks over to the parking in front of Wayne’s Tavern. Damn! There it was, Dad’s truck, where she was afraid it had been all afternoon. That’s why she hates rainy days. When Dad’s construction job gets rained out, he heads for the bar. That’s never a good thing at her house.

Afternoon progresses into evening. Suppertime finds the two of them sitting at the kitchen table, listlessly picking at their food. Dad’s place is noticeably empty. They know the longer he stays at the bar, the more likely it becomes that there will be hell to pay when he gets home.

Tammy sits on the couch with the TV playing some mindless sitcom. Through the living room window she’s watching the traffic coming and going on the highway. Mom’s in her usual place in the rocking chair, stirring her coffee endlessly. With each set of oncoming headlights Tammy is muttering softly “please don’t stop.” None of them are a beacon of their salvation.

Tammy’s hands are clenched, nails biting into her palms. She lightly touches a scattering of hives along her collarbones and upper chest. A visible sign of stress to match the unseen inner turmoil. Tension in the room is palpable. Then, inevitably, it happens. Headlights slowing down, a lurch of the truck turning into the driveway. Sudden braking, skidding gravel.

They look at each other fearfully, bracing themselves for the opening of the back door.

[credit@EdibleCthulhu]