by Zara Adcock
A pretty woman with black curly hair and a faint lavender scent about her had just made it out of the library and behind the fence (where she was blocked from the librarian’s view) before losing her grip on her bag of new loans. The bag spilled out onto the pavement and I was considering sniffing a particularly large volume when my companion, Kim pulled on my leash. I stopped and waited – as always. Kim had one dud leg, so she relied on her cane and me. Just then though, Kim was leaning on the rubbish bin she was rifling through. The pretty woman was upright again, clutching her repacked bag, I saw her notice me and do what most tended to do – smile and frown at once. I wasn’t an ugly dog, but I wasn’t a beauty either. I think it’s the people who perceive the sadness in my eyes that are the people who half frown. The pretty woman looked up at Kim scrutinizing the plastic bags with impatience, clucking under her breath. The pretty woman appeared shocked and then I saw a dozen emotions play across her face, settling on subdued. She hurried past with her eyes on the pavement. I dropped my eyes too – sometimes looking at the ground seems best.
When the pretty woman had disappeared around the corner, Kim and I went into the little laneway and sat down. Kim leaned against the fence and we shared a quarter eaten sandwich that Kim had scavenged for us.
This is Zara Adcock’s first piece of flash fiction published by Eastlit. However, Zara Adcock previous had poetry published in Eastlit as follows: