Photo credit, (c) Yinglan.
He was always at this park on Saturdays. I’d notice him whenever I took my dog for the nightly walk. After I’d lived here for about nine months, I noticed the weather didn’t matter. He was here every Saturday evening, and only Saturday evenings.
His clothing was shabby; his cheeks, red. I imagined on the nights I didn’t see him, he must stay at the shelter. One night I stopped to talk.
“Hey, I’m Fran. Isn’t it a little cold to be out here?”
“Doesn’t bother me. My lady and I, we’d come here every Saturday night. I can picture here right there. We’d sit on that bench.” Shivering, he showed me a smiling photo of her on that bench.
“When is the date over?” I asked, worried he might freeze.
He looked at a broken wrist-watch. “Half an hour.”
“I don’t think she’d mind leaving early. It’s a bit cold. Can I walk you to the shelter?”
He shrugged and smiled sadly. “Yeah, there’s soup. Maybe she’ll show up next week.”
**172 words
***The challenge is to write a short piece of flash fiction in response to a provided picture prompt of 100-150 words (+ or – 25 words, thank goodness :)). You can view other stories or jun the fun at FFfAW.
Thank you for stopping by on a snowy evening! You never know the difference you could make. Of course, it is not snowy here, but I can imagine. 🙂
pamelascanepa 