Jaded (part 2)

Lightning flashes. 

So he runs, he flees; I can see his round brown eyes are wide with fear. His matted fur glistens with the sheets of rain that strike the side of the world. His tail hangs low, curled in out of fear and anxiety. The thunder crawls in out of the distance.

This is an opportunity for me, one I may never get again. I slap my wrists for being too cool to wear a watch and dash to the microwave to check the time (yes, I don’t own a regular clock); the hour becomes important. If I’m gone for too long it may look suspicious and if I return very abruptly I won’t have a chance to cover my tracks.

My car makes a squealing beep when I hit the Unlock button on the remote. I freeze in the rain to check if the noise drew any attention to me. No, I’m still just a shadow in a thunderstorm. In the car, dripping wet, I shove the plastic knob to shut down the radio. The true darkness of the storm has passed and a pale grey-red settles over the glazed neighborhood.

 In the few breaths it takes to crawl to the end of the driveway I see the dog has made it to the end of the block. I know I have to pause here, I have to give him time to break line of sight with the Pit. Back and forth my eyes go, to the house he escaped from and his exodus, back and forth.

I grow impatient; I turn the wheel the other way and force myself to circle the block.

The whole stage was abandoned when the rain came, all the players just put down their props and went back inside; lawnmowers; basketballs; rocking chairs. I turn a corner, another, another – full circle. I can see his sauntering frame up ahead, not more than one hundred feet past this stop sign.

My headlights flick on in the rain – strangely delayed. He neglects to look at me, instead he and his shadow move into the street, dodging a flooded patch of sidewalk.

One last look around. No one. I drop my foot onto the pedal and brace myself.

I close my eyes.

Thump.

I don’t let up, one second, two, three. I think it’s okay to open my eyes now. I let up on the gas and gently roll down the street. The rain keeps coming.

A single stream of red rolls down the right side of my windshield.