Flotsam
#1 of Flash Fiction
A dog always waits.
Wanted to do a little flash fiction, and I really like how this turned out. Kinda got me a bit emotional.
Flotsam
He liked the feeling of the cold water lapping over and soaking his feet while he sat. It was always fun to watch the waves turn the tan sand into tan goo around his tan paws and feel his toes sink down into it all. He'd have to move now and then, following the tides, but that was okay. Other people came to that spot for the fishing, and most were nice to him. They'd give him a tip of their caps, or sometimes some grilled fish if they had a good catch. Once in awhile they'd even say hello and pet him. He liked that.
It was his favorite part of the day. The sunshine cast shimmering hues of red and orange across the ripples and waves. The breeze got cooler, which made it smell better to him as the salty scents filled his nose. Some of the fishermen were leaving, but the serious ones stayed. They knew the fish liked to come in with the dusk. The serious ones were more likely to give him a free meal, too. He liked the old man with the dark skin and the whiskey the most. That man always talked him as if the man knew him. If he stayed on the beach late, he'd always go sit by that man.
He wasn't going to stay late on that night, though. The dog stood up on all fours as his eyes spotted something in the waves that wasn't sunshine. He followed the bobbing flotsam to and fro as it came close to the beach, but then back again into the water. He didn't trust himself to swim very far. It got close enough, and he took the piece of blue painted wood into his mouth. Everybody was watching him, and some were pointing and talking, but that was okay. It was time to leave the beach for that night.
His home wasn't far away, and he trotted quickly towards it; trying to avoid the hot pavement but not get yelled at for running over stranger's lawns. The wood was heavy, and tasted bad, but it wasn't where it belonged yet.
The dog reached his own yard, and set the piece of wood down next to another, smaller piece that shared the same hue of blue. The flowers--cut from their stems and placed in a circle of branches--were wilting, but they still smelled nice to him as he looked up at them. He settled himself into the grass by his wood and waited.
Above him was a wreath. In the middle of it was a sun-faded photo of a man on his blue boat with his dog.