All that mattered was how high the sun hung in the sky.
All in Flash Fiction
My father taught me. He’d stretch against a tree, paint with berries. He showed me how to live.
The world as he knew it would shift soon, and he had no idea what shift was coming.
They were waiting for the bus, watching the dust roll with the wind. He followed his father’s movements.
The little cries picked up in speed and volume, though the animal was still unseen. “It’s okay, little one. It’s okay.”
My feet moved step by step towards their destination. I couldn’t wait to find out what it was.
I felt my classmates move around me, but I swayed with my heart. I wasn’t quite ready for the patterns.
I was gasping for air. Two puffs of the inhaler and two minutes later, the deeper breaths broke the dam of my tears.
I stretch, and slide to the ground. My hands wring through my hair. I scream.
It was warm outside — a beautiful Saturday. And then it started, the two of them unknowing.
When she met her second husband here, we went to the wedding. But last year we lost him.
She was running in booties and bare legs, and thanked a higher power that the sidewalk was empty.
The book had seen many hands through the years, only handled by the occasional lonely stranger.
Her toes had tapped on their own all night. And that was just it: alone.