Morning Glory: A Short, Short Story

Marva Hootsman awoke with a start. The digital clock on her bedside table read "3:00am". Her grandmother's voice rang through her groggy thoughts, "when we wake at the witching hour, we wait and pray for God's good graces."

Struck with the terror of her Grandmother's superstitions, Marva pulled the sheets decisively under her chin, knuckles white with absolute resolve.

Outside her window a tree's dry branches shucked against one another. An owl let out a mournful hoot. Rubber tires upset gravel.

Marva had been trying to go back to sleep for approximately four minutes when the meteor slammed through her ceiling making a crater of her home, her body, her dreams and ambitions.
And when the bright light of impact faded she was with God.