Someday maybe, but not yet

A woman was getting out of her car. It was a slow extrication, old bones and joints mutinous, her face set in a disappointed grimace. Her hair was dyed a dull brown, too dark for skin that had turned to rice paper.

She looked right at me as Kitty Cat and I weaved, slowly, yet surely, around her open door.

The gaze she settled upon me was this: defeat, envy, portent.

Or maybe that's just how I took it.

Comments

[Kellan]

This is kind of creepy (the vision I have of this old woman). Nice little story.

[slouching mom]

And no anxiety? I find the elderly predominantly anxious when confronted by children. Anxious, I think, because of their fragile, brittle bones.