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Flash Fiction: A Literal Interpretation

She’s walking across the lawn towards me, a basket of gardening tools hanging from her arm, her white hair glistening in the sun. She doesn’t yet know that I’m here, and won’t until I choose to reveal myself to her, since I am well-concealed amongst the shrubbery. My bare calf has rubbed against a nettle, but now the anticipation overwhelms me so that I can hardly feel the stinging. As she kneels down close to the rhododendron I begin to prepare the Hound.

In the past I might have chose a younger audience, but I find that the older lady has more of a sense of decorum. Only the other day, I was cruelly mocked by a group of schoolgirls during what ought to have been a virtuoso performance. The humiliation as I fled was awful, but the fault lay with them; those callow eight or nine-year-olds lack the necessary maturity to appreciate me.

A few moments later I am ready, and I step out of the bushes, dropping my raincoat to the ground and revealing myself in all my splendour. I am magnificent. The Hound stands to attention, jutting forth gloriously. She is frozen on her knees before me, eyes wide. She seems overcome, paralysed by the wonder of what is before her. She raises her hands almost as if in a dream, seemingly having forgotten that they are still clenching the handles of the gardening shears, and reaches out towards me…

Flash Fiction: A Literal Interpretation

Alice .

London, United Kingdom

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  • Lehane
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