Life in Single Scenes: Neglect

 

The cat came through the door. The tiny door specially designed for cats little bodies creating a hole in the door. A hole that always allowed cold air regardless of where is the cat. Or perhaps, a cat came through, since no one gave it a name and the little girl who was observing the scene can never identify the cat. Her cat had no distinctive marks. One thing was distinctive about this cat is the little bloodied bird in her mouth. He was not fully dead. The girl just assumed it is a he. Like all cats are assumed to be a she. Minor details. Her focus was on the weak slow flapping wing. Soon … very soon after she noticed it flapping, it stopped! The little “he” bird had given up the last fight. The cat sat on dissecting the little body. The girl watched with her wide blue green eyes at his feet. He is drunk again. He is fixated with the TV. His gaze cannot leave the screen dissecting the game. This could be it. The ticket in his hand can be the lucky ticket. He may be a winner tonight. He slurps his beer and burps. The little head raises to the height of his knee and looks at him. Blank faces. The cat leaves the carcase of the little bird and skips through the hole in the door. Not the first dead body around here and surely it will not be the last. The girl’s head descends with her body close to the floor. She rests her chin on her fist-ed hand and stares.

May 15, 2016

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About alaindesade

Novelist, songwriter and philosopher. Has special interest in human relations, evolution of mind, inter-cultural complications, and the concept of God.
This entry was posted in Life in Single Scenes, Very Short Stories and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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