What? Another Ficly? It’s fiction time.
The dog waited at the foot of the stairs. Once or twice that week it crept up laboriously, heaving its old, heavy body up, one step at a time, it’s distended underbelly dragging on the long beige rug that ran the length of the staircase.
When it reached the top, it would pause and sniff, lacking the energy to growl at the odor that permeated that region of the house. More than anything the dog was hungry.
He had not seen the woman in days, and consequently, he had been without food. The kitchen was empty, and the air in the house was growing staler by the hour. The dog would grunt and slide back down the stairs with several graceful thumps. The sound of claws clacking along the edges of the stairs where the wood was exposed from under the carpet was not to be missed.
Back at the bottom, the dog would turn and hold itself as steady as it could before resting back on its fat haunches.
Four days and no one had come looking for her. The dog was the only thing in the world that knew she was gone.
Originally on Ficly: http://ficly.com/stories/20143
Ficly for today. It’s about an elementary level school teacher with an interesting idea for a change of career.
My glass of water was on the edge of the counter. If she put that hot pan down in the wrong place, or I didn’t watch as I leaned forward, it was going to plummet to the ground.
I picked it up and took a drink. The mushrooms in the skillet sizzled and popped. We were in our new kitchen, white and clean at the time. She was cooking dinner, I was listening. She said she wanted to get out, that she kept thinking that the kids in her class hated her and that, what with all the work she had, she had found out that she hated what she did and she almost didn’t know it because she was so overwhelmed with paperwork and lesson plans. My wife said she felt used.
In my mind, as she was saying all of this, I kept going back to the fact that the conspirators she was describing were really just second-grade kids.
I took another drink and leaned on the counter, watching the back of her head as she cooked.
She grabbed her glass of wine, sniffed it with and air of importance, and said, “I want to be a Pet Food Taster.”
Originally of Ficly: http://ficly.com/stories/16608