Even if the man outside had been waving, I was too weak to wave back or even smile. Actually he was wiping my windows. Over the weeks I grew used to his singing and his ring-tone, his shadow passing over me several times a day. I’m 6 floors up. He had no ropes, no platform, no ladder, only a wife who did his accounts and a no-good son he moaned about to everyone. I wanted him to stop, too many birds were crashing against the glass. I thought he’d never go.
Then with the first frost he waved to me for real and rose to join a vast flock of migrating angels. I could see in his eyes how reluctant he was to leave me. I wasn’t sad. I knew he’d only go if he was sure I wasn’t going away. I knew that in spring he’d try to return to the same spot. He left his fingerprints on the glass. I can’t wash them off.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
FlashFlood Contributes to Best Microfiction 2021!
Huge congratulations to Bill Merklee and Regan Puckett, our two 2020 FlashFlood nominees who have been chosen to appear in Best Microfiction...

-
We'd like to mark the end of 2020 with a little celebration of this year's FlashFlood writers. Congratulations to the following wri...
-
How’d you do it, girl? Waitressing part-time at Steak ‘n’ Shake since the day after your sixteenth birthday, working weekends through high s...
-
A shaft of sunlight fell across the worn herringbone floor, drawing his gaze upwards to the flawless blue sky beyond the row of windows, ...

No comments:
Post a comment