Challenge 9/04
She sat there - cross-legged and slumped shouldered - in her dreary malcontent, the hard floor and splintered wall only serving to remind her of neglected classroom chairs and ancient park benches left too long exposed to the elements. Scowling up at the annoying rotations of an off-kilter ceiling fan, the lines between her eyes deepened and she flexed her fingers in rebellious refusal to even consider rising to pull its chain.
Too slow or not slow enough, she couldn't quite decide. Still, she found it disturbing. And in being so disturbed she knowingly, on purpose, by calculated design... avoided further focus and moving her eyes instead to the unsuspecting cat curled onto himself in the too-small basket under the desk. Near her feet. Within range.
Inching a leg slowly forward, her bare toes found the few whiskery hairs jutting from the thing's neck and he jerked, hitting his nose against the side of the wicker. Then (in his haste to escape) he fell over sideways momentarily frantic, pawing at the empty air. In unmistakable high offense. The familiar disgruntled rumble uncharacteristically short as he waddled off.
Ohjoy. Guilt sets in. How do you make amends to a cat? A fat cat who spat, then scat? Glancing at the clock she timed the predictable return. They have their pride, you know - cats do. And return he did, feigning nonchalant indifference. As if the girl could be fooled. Once bitten, you know. Live and learn.
He eyed her with obvious accusation, his rigid movements claiming her own sudden stiffness as accusation changed to gratified contempt. Revenge can be a two-way street. Or mutual. Bending forward, she flicked the basket onto its side with a thumb and smiled a dare so palpable it bounced off the cat and into her own awareness so unexpectedly that she sucked air over her teeth in a rush even as she rose to set it right, guilty again. There, cat! You win!
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You may check the account Major Domo for Charity items being liquidated for funds.
Donations always appreciated, of course *smiles*.
Mahayr
WW&CCF - Writers Workshop & Contest Charity Foundation.
Formerly known as GrantOrg... we carry the torch with pride and respect.
Serving the Writers Forums since 9/2004.
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User Comments: [1] [add]
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<i><b>She sat there with crossed legs and slumped shoulders,</b> telling of the hard floor and splintered wall. A reminder of neglected classroom chairs and ancient park benches falling in place with the dreary raindrops outside the schoolhouse.</i>