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Family Reunion: Flash Fiction by cam

Updated on December 17, 2016
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Chris has written more than 300 flash fiction/short stories. Working Vacation was 21st out of 6,700 in the 2016 Writer's Digest competition.


Family Reunion

Wendell got out of bed at his usual rising time of 6:00 am to get ready for work, though he really wanted to pull the blankets over his head and sleep for two more hours. He decided that music might help his mood, so he switched on his radio. The show’s host was inviting everyone to join him that morning at the farmers’ market which was held every Saturday.

Wendell’s mood improved immediately. Saturday was much better than whatever day he had thought it was. He started his coffee pot and knew that this was going to be a very special morning.

He stood at his bay window, looking out across the lawn toward the horizon where the sun rose over distant hills. The sky was blue, the birds were singing and the stranger camping on his front lawn was enjoying a cup of coffee as well. Wendell headed out the door.

“Excuse me sir, but you’re camping on my front lawn.”

“Oh, hello. Yes, I am. My name is Clyde. You see I grew up on this property.

“You can’t come back here and camp on my lawn just because you happened to have lived here at some point in time.”

“Now hold on. I didn’t just live here for a little while. I spent my whole childhood here. We just wanted to come back and camp out in the yard like we did when we were kids. You know, for old time’s sake.”

“We? Did you say we?”

“Yes I did. My brother is coming too. Sort of a little family reunion.”

“You can call you brother and tell him the family reunion is off. You can’t camp in my yard.”

“Look, here he comes now.”

A thirty-six foot motorhome pulled into Wendell's driveway. Clyde ran to the rear of the vehicle to help guide it into place under an Oak tree. Wendell ran to the front to direct it back out onto the road.

When the driver of the motor home was finished parking, he got out and gave Clyde a big bear hug. Clyde introduced Wendell to his brother Clem, who gave Wendell a bear hug as well.

Before Wendell could object, the door to the motorhome flew open and slammed against the side of the vehicle. Out shot two little girls with three boys close on their heels, screaming and laughing. Horns blared as ten more vehicles turned into the driveway and parked on the grass.


Wendell excused himself and went back into the house. He called the Sheriff’s Department and explained what was going on in his front yard. A few minutes later, a patrol car pulled into the driveway.“ Howdy Wendell,” said the Deputy. “Are you having a family reunion?”

“No...yes, I mean, no.” Well I’m not, but they are.” At that point, Clyde and Clem walked up.

“Well if it ain’t our old pal, Ernie,” said Clyde. “We haven’t seen you since we were teenagers.”

“Clyde? Clem?” said the Deputy. “I can’t believe this. It’s great to see you guys.”

“Are you a Sheriff now, Ernie?” asked Clem.

“Oh no, just a deputy. But, maybe someday.”

“I hate to break up this little get-together, but I need to talk to the Deputy for a few minutes in the house.” Wendell escorted the officer inside.

“Ernie, I want you to get those people to leave. They’re trespassing on my property.”

“Those two men are old friends of mine, Wendell. They grew up here. I’m sure they just want to hang out at the old place for the weekend, then they’ll be gone.”

Wendell was speechless. The Deputy thought he was finished talking and walked back outside.


Wendell followed, intending to object, but was distracted when he saw that someone was assembling a very large, above-the-ground, swimming pool.

People were setting up tents, charcoal grills and a homemade ice cream maker. Things were far beyond getting out of hand. The situation was hopeless. Wendell went back into the house and closed the door.

With a large bag in each hand, Wendell exited the house and tossed the bags into the back of his truck.

“Where you off to?” asked the Deputy.

“I’m going fishing and camping,” said Wendell. “I’ll see you later, Ernie.”


Later that night, bluegill sizzled in a frying pan over Wendell's fire. Headlights swept across the campsite. A door slammed closed and headlights flickered as someone passed in front of the vehicle.

“Wendell, what are you doing in my front yard?”

“Camping, Ernie. I’m camping.”


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