It was a long time ago. I was walking my 120-pound dog, Rocky, through the biting wind that cut through my coat, scarf, and gloves. The night was dark, and we were heading to the dog park. Rats slithered through gutters and garbage cans, their movements rustling paper and jingling loose cans.
Rocky spotted cats perched on fruit crates, their spines arched, eyes glowing.
At the fenced dog park, I let him run free. The cold didn’t seem to bother him at all.
A homeless man pushed a stolen shopping cart past the gate. His blackened hands gripped the handle, his cracked lips curled into a grin, and his hollow pupils stared straight through me.
Rocky and I hurried away, passing the freight train tracks. Flames flickered inside a barrel, casting jagged shadows. Then the fire shifted.
I saw a face in the flames.
Heart pounding, I picked up my pace and ran with Rocky.
When we finally got home, safe but frozen, I made hot chocolate. Rocky had his treats. The night stayed outside where it belonged.
Georgia P.
No comments:
Post a Comment