>Red Writing Hood, #2

>Or, the second foray into fiction.

If you’re curious, you can read our instructions for this week’s meme at The Red Dress Club.

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The abandoned magazine she grabbed off a bench and used to shield her face offered little more shelter than a sodden hat.

Oblivious, she continued. Slowly pacing, back and forth, her eyes to the ground. Her pink polyester uniform clung to her legs, hindering her steps.

The afternoon darkened further and a distant rumble curdled the air. Glancing up, her pace quickened. Darting now, among the trees, the magazine left behind. Searching.

Persistent rivers coursed over the paths and the sidewalk. Under benches. Everywhere mud.

Frantic, her tears mixed with the rain. Thunder rumbled, and again.

Lightening split the darkened sky. Startled, her scream faded to a wail. She stumbled, falling to one knee and tearing her hose on the loose gravel of the path. On her hands and knees she continued, what she sought invisible in the downpour and the dark. On her feet again, she ducked under a branch, and tripped again.

This time she lay as she fell, her anguish mixing with the rain. The droplets hit the pavement so hard they bounced. As if it were raining upward.

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“Roz, it came.”

She plunked down on the bench next to her friend. The early sun giving no hint of the storm that would be over the little town in just hours.

“Well, sugar, show me then! Y’all been dyin’ for this for how long now?” Humidity defied the morning cool and settled over the grass of the park.

“Oh, don’t say it that way! Dying.” She shivered, reaching into her worn bag. The strap held with a safety pin, a split seam exposed fragile lining. She pulled out a small package wrapped in paper.

“Why’d they send it to you? Why’d they even keep it?” Roz fanned herself with a magazine she found on the bench, sweating in the humid air.

“I keep trying to figure that out. Why me? Why now?” She unwrapped it slowly and there it lay on her palm. Heavy for its size. The sun innocently glinted off the metal.

“Hey yuh allllll!” A shrill voice from behind caused them both to jump. Without turning, Joan stuffed the parcel back in her purse..

“Shari-Lynn” Roz nodded to the other woman. All three in matching pink, polyester uniforms. An embroidered hanky on the breast-pocket. Aprons, neatly pressed.

“Would y’all look at the time, Bud be unlocking the door any second. We ought to git on over there.” Shari patted her bottle-blonde hair and tugged the silver strap of her bag higher on her shoulder.

With that, the three turned and crossed the grass and the street beyond to the small cafe that was just coming alive for the early rush. Coffee and bacon and yeserday’s fries perfumed the spring morning.

Keeping counsel with their own thoughts, they crossed to the door.

Not hearing the tiny chime of metal hitting pavement.

Not seeing the glint as it rolled from the sidewalk into the high grass under the trees.

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