Crossed - 241
Ben Azevedo
Jack woke up exactly one minute before his alarm. He groaned and stared into the bright and painful LED screen until it went off. 5:00 AM.
The latch to the door rotated slowly and released its tenuous hold on the frame with a soft click. The boy stepped into the kitchen. Bathed in the soft glow of the microwave, he silently cursed. 1:45 AM. He would need to be awake in a few hours for school.
She had been up all night. She was nocturnal after all. And if the captors acquiesced to letting her out in the afternoon, she’d be damned if she let herself be caught before the next day. She licked her pink nose and tasted morning.
Shower. Clothes. Breakfast. Briefcase. And Jack was out the door, heading at a steady pace to the bus stop. Three streets to cross.
The boy wasn’t awake yet. What was wrong? Raised voices roused him and he remembered the night before. Shit. Had to get to class. The bus stop was one street over, right across from the city bus stop. 10 minutes.
The morning progressed. It had been a good night; she had left the spoils of her adventure for the captors to enjoy. Now she wandered the streets, drawn towards a cause she didn’t understand.
At one moment, they converged. The yellow school bus headed south, the white city bus north. And the black cat crossed their paths, west.
Black Cat - Mayday Parade
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Nicely braided tale ... or is that tail?
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