Fallen Leaf
#3 of Flash Fiction
Another bit of flash fiction I did for a writing exercise with some friends. Wasn't going to upload it, but decided what the hell.
Exercise was to make a very short (<750 words) story inspired by the Poem "Raglan Road" by Patrick Kavanagh.
Fallen Leaf
People looked so good in the autumn. Maybe it was the flat colors of the peacoats and scarfs that seemed to match up with the leaves that littered the ground. The park bench was a good place to sit and watch everyone go about their daily business. It was close enough to the college campus so that one could see young people going and coming from classes, but it was a crossroads for all ages and professions in the city.
The old fennec fox sat on his bench, as he did most days. Weary eyes looked at the passers by when they weren't looking down at his little pad of paper that he wrote his poems in. Some of them still had her name, but most didn't anymore. The old fox smiled as he saw a young, geeky looking leopard on the bench across the path from him. The feline had a guitar case next to him, and he too was writing in a notepad; lyrics and the music to play along with them, no doubt.
She walked by. A stunning, fashionable woman. She was a leopard, like the young man, with long, beautiful locks of dark hair. The youthful musician perked up in his bench as he saw. Thoughts and dreams filled his young eyes as he struggled with whether to stand up and pursue, or simply sit down and dream.
She'd be trouble, and hardly looked a match for a poor music man, but he could give her so many things. He could share his gifts, and his passions. He could write songs about her, and sing to the cubs. He could admire her form and delicate features, and come to know all about her. The musician started up, and sat down with a visible sigh. She was just a woman in the park; passing by like the leaves on the wind.
The fennec watched, and looked down at his frail paws and words. He knew what his young companion of the park was thinking.
She walked by. A stern, fashionable old woman. She was a fennec, like the old man, with long, beautiful locks of hair that had once been dark. He thought of his poems, and his passions, and how he had sung to the children. She saw him sitting and their eyes met as the pair froze for a moment; remembering. Then the proud old woman stiffened up and hastened away.
He had pursued the woman in the park, so many years ago. Pursued, but never fully caught. She'd been trouble, after all.