BETWEEN (flash fiction)

Posted by Sherry Roit on Friday, October 25, 2013 Under: Writing



Between seven and nine, four days per week. Tuesday through Friday. In a too-bright-to-be-missed atomic pink running skirt. Unless it was autumn/winter, and quite chilly. Then the muscular legs were swathed in charcoal grey to the ankles.

He looked forward to those mornings. Stood on his balcony, perched there high above in his nest. Sipping coffee. Waiting. He'd watch for her. Sometimes she came from the south. Most times. Rarely from the north. He wondered at that anomaly. If there were some specific reason for it. Even the supposed random events had reasons, if investigated.

There must be a reason, he reasoned.

He had plenty of coffee this morning. Most mornings. He sipped from his cup for the umpteenth time, impatient. She was late. He hoped that she was well. It was a warm morning, and he wanted to see that skirt. Those legs. She wasn't vulgar like some others, in barely there shorts. She left something to the imagination. She was serious about running - no show off. He'd get a glimpse of those tantalizing thighs...

He wondered if she ever wondered what went on above her head. Around her, as she ran. She never looked up. Never saw him. Indeed, she focused on her breath. Her strides. Perhaps it was meditation for her. Yet he had a sense that she was very observant. Attuned. In her zen place, she noticed all. She must sense him up there, watching. Staring. She chose not to acknowledge it, that was all. 

She was in her zone, he supposed, but wasn't that the moment of clarity, the path to perfect mindfulness?

He paused in having another sip, cup lifted and hanging there, steam rising to lick at his nostrils. He'd spied that spot of pink. Coming closer. Closer and from the south. And that little black hat. Her hair had grown long over the last year, and her ponytail kept time with her feet. Enticing. Begging...

Maybe today she'd look up. Notice him. Didn't she ever wonder what went on in the condos, the penthouses with sea view, above her? Did anyone? Not really. Private little lives, little dramas, gasping spouses. Those below never imagined. Didn't want to. Too self-absorbed to care.

She ran by. She did not look up. Not so much as a glance. He sighed and finished his coffee, still holding out hope that she was different. All was silence behind him, in the condo. The bitch had gone quiet at last. After he'd dealt with that, he'd follow the pretty girl in the atomic pink running skirt. He'd find out. AT LAST.  Tomorrow was Thursday...

He had time.


In : Writing 


Tags: flash  original  between 
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BETWEEN (flash fiction)

Posted by Sherry Roit on Friday, October 25, 2013 Under: Writing



Between seven and nine, four days per week. Tuesday through Friday. In a too-bright-to-be-missed atomic pink running skirt. Unless it was autumn/winter, and quite chilly. Then the muscular legs were swathed in charcoal grey to the ankles.

He looked forward to those mornings. Stood on his balcony, perched there high above in his nest. Sipping coffee. Waiting. He'd watch for her. Sometimes she came from the south. Most times. Rarely from the north. He wondered at that anomaly. If there were some specific reason for it. Even the supposed random events had reasons, if investigated.

There must be a reason, he reasoned.

He had plenty of coffee this morning. Most mornings. He sipped from his cup for the umpteenth time, impatient. She was late. He hoped that she was well. It was a warm morning, and he wanted to see that skirt. Those legs. She wasn't vulgar like some others, in barely there shorts. She left something to the imagination. She was serious about running - no show off. He'd get a glimpse of those tantalizing thighs...

He wondered if she ever wondered what went on above her head. Around her, as she ran. She never looked up. Never saw him. Indeed, she focused on her breath. Her strides. Perhaps it was meditation for her. Yet he had a sense that she was very observant. Attuned. In her zen place, she noticed all. She must sense him up there, watching. Staring. She chose not to acknowledge it, that was all. 

She was in her zone, he supposed, but wasn't that the moment of clarity, the path to perfect mindfulness?

He paused in having another sip, cup lifted and hanging there, steam rising to lick at his nostrils. He'd spied that spot of pink. Coming closer. Closer and from the south. And that little black hat. Her hair had grown long over the last year, and her ponytail kept time with her feet. Enticing. Begging...

Maybe today she'd look up. Notice him. Didn't she ever wonder what went on in the condos, the penthouses with sea view, above her? Did anyone? Not really. Private little lives, little dramas, gasping spouses. Those below never imagined. Didn't want to. Too self-absorbed to care.

She ran by. She did not look up. Not so much as a glance. He sighed and finished his coffee, still holding out hope that she was different. All was silence behind him, in the condo. The bitch had gone quiet at last. After he'd dealt with that, he'd follow the pretty girl in the atomic pink running skirt. He'd find out. AT LAST.  Tomorrow was Thursday...

He had time.


In : Writing 


Tags: flash  original  between 
blog comments powered by Disqus

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