The Wryters' Block

Shaping, Designing, Sculpting Words

My Harry




I climbed in my car and drove; to where, I didn’t know; wasn’t sure where I could find him, never knew where he lived.
I wouldn’t call him an oddball, my Harry. It wasn’t queer that, out of nowhere, he’d turn and lick my cheek. Sometimes he’d sit at my feet and stare. I laughed out loud. I found his gestures endearing, and they warmed my heart.
I remember shared meals and quiet moments when I rustled my hand through his hair. We’d wander outside and play Frisbee; like a child, he loved games. Oftentimes, I’d sit on the porch swing with a bowl of ice cream and record his every move. And every day I steeled my heart. I wasn’t sure when he’d leave. As freely as he came, I knew he’d go the same way.
I slowed the car, turned left and kept driving. I brushed aside a lone tear that crept down my face, wondered if I’d ever see him again? He’d come into my heart and life, this carefree spirit. I should have known not to get attached, for life without him seemed a thing unthinkable.
I brought the car to a standstill, got out, and ventured through the woods. I needed air, freedom, escape. To live I needed to forget.
Branches scraped my clothes. Twigs snapped underfoot. When darkness threw its cloak around me, I realized I was lost.
Then I saw him – the cutest, most adorable German Shepherd in the whole world, my Harry.


English: A German Shepherd waiting for someone...



March 3, 2013 - Posted by | Flash Fiction | ,

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