One Man Dystopia

I saved a cat today. Please don’t let that sole act put me on your good side. A single piteous action is often a brilliant distraction from the sinister. My intention, which is the most important part of any piety, was not to do so. In fact, the creature quite ruined the rhythm of my day.

I found the cat during a walk.

The frost-laden sidewalk crunches under the weight of my steel-toed boots. The barren branches explain the leaf-covered ground – a myriad of autumnal guts spilled atop the grass of the park.

No one’s here. The early morning darkness turns the innocence of the play structure into a harrowing, prophetic, castle.

There is no birdsong, no whisper of the river. There is no rustling of the trees or scurrying of chipmunks. There is only me within the frosted world.

The salt-trucks aren’t grumbling around town yet because they haven’t woken either. I have, for some reason.

The edge of the park dips down into a river. I can barely hear the frothing waters just below the frozen surface. The stream deeply gurgles, almost as if trying to reach out with a dying hand.

The sun begins to claw its way over the horizon; orange rays pierce through the myriad of dead branches, loosening the frozen surface of the river. It cracks, the sound like a lock’s tumblers falling into place.

Note:

Thank you for reading! This is the first page of a two-thousand word short story. If you would like to read more please let me know.