It was all she could do these days, sit in the chair watching the world go by, surrounded by the same dreary four walls. Consumed with the constant gloomy thoughts, listening to the dulcet tones of the swish and squelch of the oxygen tank. The dank smell of putrid piss and shit hanging in the air, almost choking her, but what could she do about it? She scanned the room for an answer.
She knew it wouldn’t be long now, she would just have to surrender to it. Recalling and recoiling at the thought of the night when it all changed. It had begun like any other typical night, out walking the dog along the canal side, the moon covered in a blanket of mist. Nothing but the sounds of her footsteps and the panting of the dog at her side. Her reverie interrupted by the phone in her pocket breaking the otherwise peaceful stroll.
It had been years since she had spoken to her mother and she vowed she would never step foot in that house again. What she had done was unforgivable. Yet here she was now at the end of the phone, pleading and begging her to come.
As she watches her chest heaving in a convex and concave motion, mists of steam spouting at the base of her nostrils, she feels nothing but anger, fury and yes, pity. It’s the pity that fueld her intense rage. It’s time for retribution.
This piece was written for the first heat of the NYC Midnight Microfiction Challenge of 2019.
Genre: Drama . Action – walking a dog. Word: scanned.