Fiction & Creative

He is waiting for us

By Nora Chery

Volume 1 Issue 2

November 24, 2020

He is waiting for us

Image provided by Amazon

I could still recall the memory like it was merely a few days ago. It was a Tuesday-or Friday evening; the sunlight bathed me with its warmth as I was stepping along a path that leads to my home. It had sandwiched me with fences of flowers in contrasting hues, flowing past me with their scents passively entering my snout. The trail riddled with silence; only the whoosh of the petals and the noise of grass being stepped kept it from being deafening. I felt like I could breathe with ease. I felt small fingers squeeze around my much broader ones; I looked down to see my Alex’s round brown eyes staring up at me with his tiny mouth moving up to a smile.


“It’s time to go home!” he said bouncing up and down. I beamed at him.


“Uh-huh, Daddy’s waiting for us,” I replied, glancing straight at the flowery path which seemed a lot deeper than I expected. Still, it didn’t trouble me.


“The toads are humming, that means it’s time to fly home” A tune spring up from my three-year-old' s mouth, his head swaying from side to side.


“Where did you hear that song?” I asked, my view still on the path.


“From—” He replied then stood still. I looked down to find his face staring at something, his round face framed with awe. I peered in his direction to meet a brown-colored puppy laying under a shrub layered with dark crimson roses, only a few steps away. I would’ve called it cute if its behind wasn’t facing in my direction.


I suddenly felt my child’s puny hand slip out of mine; I saw him run towards the dog with his back towards me. He crouched down, laying his small hand down on its stomach.


“Hey, don’t touch if you don’t know where it’s been!” I scolded, jogging up to catch up to him. I froze. The puppy was dead, obviously. There was a large gash across its tiny throat, with blood taking its time to seep out making a red puddle on the concrete. It was a nerve-wracking sight to see, and a three-year-old shouldn’t witness such a thing. I slowly reached my hand out, aiming it towards his small back.


“It’s dead,” a much deeper voice came from my son’s mouth; I sprang my forearm back in dismay. I marveled to myself. Did that really come out of my son? It sounded exactly like a grown man, almost like my husband. I tried to keep my cool but being taken aback had made it quite difficult.


“Now...now honey I—” Then Alex stood up, but I wasn’t looking down at him, I was staring up at him. He turned to me, I looked at the face of my husband who smiled at me.


“Don’t worry about it, it’s just a dog” he whispered softly as he wrapped his large fingers around my much smaller fingers, “It’s time to go home,” he said.


“...Uh-huh...Alex’s waiting for us,” I replied softly, dazed with bewilderment, as we walked alongside the flowery path, leaving the puppy behind.