The 4:14 Flash

The 4:14 Flash

“It’s about time for the 4:14 flash, isn’t it, George?” asked Sam, who was the oldest of the three men who sat at the bus stop.

“No, Sam, your watch is always fast. We have another three minutes,” George said patiently as he checked his watch.

Fred Zimmerman, the third man at the bus stop, checked his watch, too. George was right, it was only 4:11. Fred watched the two residents of Puerility as they leaned forward on the bench and grew quiet.

He was from New York City and was intrigued by these ‘oldsters’, as they liked to be called. In fact, the whole town had nothing but ‘oldsters’ in it. Fred, even though he thought it strange, figured it was a retirement town and that after a while all the people his own age would have gotten bored and moved away. They were nice enough; well, at least most of them, and Fred had spent one of the most pleasurable days of his life with them.

Life in New York City had become too stressful for him. He couldn’t find work, he wasn’t dating Marsha anymore, and his schooling was over until fall. There was really nothing for him to do, so, as he had often done before, he decided to take a trip somewhere he had never been.

The bus station was crowded. He looked at the destination board and the price to Puerility had seemed just right. He arrived the next day at 11:00 a.m., a little stiff but rested. He’d spent most of his time talking to the old people who sat on benches up and down Main Street and in the town square. Most of them talked quite freely as though they were thankful for having a young man in town. Some, not many, refused to talk to him but smiled as he passed by as though they secretly knew something. A few of them said he reminded them of another youth they had known.

He liked the town, but most of all he liked the town square. It looked like something from an old musical he had seen when he was a kid. It was pure Americana. In the middle of the square sat a fountain with a copper statue of a woman pouring water out of a vase. Fred could tell it was old, but it shone as brightly as if it had been cast yesterday. A copper plaque on the base of the statue read “The Fountain of Puerility” and shimmered as brightly as the rest of the fountain.

Fred walked around the outside of the fountain, awe struck by its beauty. The statue seemed to smile at him. A few of the ‘Oldsters’ smiled, too. He started to feel uneasy and decided he would take the 4:20 bus back to New York City.

He made his way to the bus stop and sat down with two of them, George and Sam. Fred was once again ready to get back to the stress of the City after having had such a nice relaxing day.

“Look, Sam, there’s good Ole Harold turning all the lights red at the intersection. Must be 4:14. The Flash should be along any second now,” George said as he looked past Fred, down the street.

“What is this Flash?And why is that cop turning all the lights red.?” Fred asked, talking to these two men for the first time.

“You’ll see, son,” George said without taking his eyes from the street. Fred looked at Sam and then glanced around and noticed that all the other ‘Oldsters’ were looking down the street, too. Even the police officer named Harold paid no attention to the intersection but looked on as intently as the others. Fred felt uneasy for the second time that day. Not knowing what to do, he looked down the street, too.

All of a sudden there came a thunderous roar and Fred watched as the clouds parted in the distance and something fell from the sky. The buildings echoed the sound of a motorcycle down the street. Fred’s eyes stared in disbelief as he saw the black figure hurl past him. His head followed his eyes as he watched the figure flash by. The mysterious rider drove through the intersection and disappeared into the fountain.

Fred sat staring at the fountain as life resumed its slow pace in Puerility. He was too deep in thought to notice that his bus had come and gone. He didn’t even notice it stop or hear the bus driver honk at him. He didn’t notice all the “oldsters’ had gone home to their warm houses. He was too busy trying to rationalize the irrational sight he had seen.

Fred sat there occasionally looking up into the dark sky where the mysterious rider had come from or down the street into the fountain where he had gone. He didn’t know that day had become night or that night had become day again. He didn’t notice that the ‘oldsters’ had come out again or that some of them shook their heads when they passed him. In fact, he was so inside himself that he didn’t notice anything until Sam’s voice drifted to his ears.

“It’s about time for the 4:14 flash isn’t it, George?” Sam said.

“No, Sam, your watch is always fast. We have another three minutes,” replied George.

For the first time in his life Fred was truly horrified. He had heard of mass hallucinations in his psychology classes, but it was never like this. He suddenly wanted to get away, far away.

“Look, Sam, there’s good Ole Harold turning all the lights in the intersection red. Must be 4:14. The flash should be along any second now,” George noted.

No this can’t be happening. I’ve got to get out of here. Fred jumped off of the bench. Across the street all the cars had stopped and the ‘oldsters’ were looking through their rear windows. Fred sprinted across the street and tugged on the first car door he came to, it was locked. He ran along to the next door and then to the next door. All the car doors were locked. The ‘Oldsters’, inside the cars, smiled at him and then returned to their vigilance, staring down the street.

Fred screamed as he heard the thunderous roar. Looking up, he saw the black figure falling from the sky. Running as fast as he could, he let out another scream that wouldn’t stop. He could hear the motorcycle getting closer. Suddenly, he realized he could run no farther. He stood in front of the fountain. Turning around to look at the motorcycle, he froze in terror as he saw the face smiling at him through the black helmet only a few feet away.

Sam and George sat back deeper into the bench and watched as the ‘oldsters’ lined up to sip from the Fountain of Puerility.

“I remember when he rode a horse. You know we’ve really got to stop this. That’s 103 to my count,” Sam said.

“It’s 104 to be precise, and why should we stop? Look how much younger everyone looks. Why you’ve already lost five years and you haven’t even taken a sip yet,” George replied.

Sam smiled and said, “Just a thought, forget it.”

“See you tomorrow, Sam.”

“See you tomorrow, George.”