Windy City

Her boots clicked lightly on the sidewalk without hurry. Dark brown rising just above her ankle, they spoke in perfect cadence. Her jeans clung to her legs never wanting to be away from her. He didn’t blame them. The darkness interrupted by intermittent lights covered her in a blanket of protective guard. Surely if anyone could see her fully, the way he did she would never have a moment to herself. He followed her, staying close. There were other people on the street but he had eyes for only her. They seemed oblivious to her. He didn’t understand why. The soft swing of her hips made it easy to pick her out of a crowd. A quiet confident walk that didn’t call attention to itself, but once noticed enthralled. He must get closer.

The streets began to bustle. She was moving towards the center of downtown. He was beginning to lose her. In a panic he rushed upwards. The masses hunched down and brought their coats snug to their bodies to combat the sudden change of temperature. He didn’t care, besides they wouldn’t freeze. Forward he blew until he was over her. He dropped low and she pulled her jacket tight. Her hair flowed from her collar as he flew closer, thick tresses of blonde that took his breath away.  She corralled them with slender, exquisitely bare fingers. Delighted that no one had a claim on her he edged yet nearer.  She glanced around, and he fell back in torrent of air. As he did he chided himself for the foolishness. She would never see him, she couldn’t. He stayed back just to be sure.  And then the rhythm changed. She sped up and he could hear her heart. It beat faster. Was she nervous? Excited? Both? And then he realized. She walked for someone, to someone. Of course she did, how could she not?  Such a beautiful creature must be spoken for.

Anger filled him, then grief, and then submission. This was his lot. And after all he was thankful for it. And then a thought: maybe he could give her a gift. Upwards again, and this time he gusted in front of her to study that angelic face. Her visage spoke of wanting even of needing. Wafting forward he searched, examining the sea of people.  And then he found him, the man strode with purpose. It was so obvious he almost missed it. The look he held, identical to hers. They were almost to each other, quickly he set to work. He directed a quick draft of cold air to huddle the crowd, another for good measure, and a strong draft to break them apart. His aim was true. They scattered just enough for a clear line of vision. Her head tilted down ducking the cold, she trudged on. Wind waited in patience for him, there would only be one chance. The man rounded the corner a few yards away from her. This was it. Wind blew a warm gentle breeze coaxing her chin up. She saw him then, smiling as he was, in awe of her. Wind understood the man could see too, maybe even better than he could. She hugged him tightly and Wind turned to carry himself away as he did a tiny lump in the man’s jacket pocket caught his eye. So… she would be spoken for after all. And the Wind was glad.

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Coble

Daily Prompt

Coble didn’t like his name much. Citing the fact that no one ever knew what he was saying when he stated his name. Covul? Cromul? Couldn’t they just use their ears and hear? Conveniently, Coble couldn’t stand speaking anyways. Calling a cab (with his hand NOT his mouth) he stepped partially into the street. Cabs never stopped like he wanted them to. Cold air hit him as he ducked into the vehicle.

“Central Park please.”

Cabbies always had a lead foot around Coble. Cafés sped by with patrons sitting comfortably drinks in hand. Chai tea sounded good, a girlfriend sounded good too but he shook that thought away.

“Can you just let me out here?”

Cab drivers were always rude around Coble. Couples littered the lawn like paper on Coble’s apartment floor. Crumpled paper was always everywhere and most of the time he didn’t even know where it came from. Coble smirked at the lie. Crumpled paper almost certainly always came from Coble and his math. Cutting through the park he couldn’t help but think of the number he couldn’t get out of his head. Couldn’t the number one just leave? Coble knew it wouldn’t, couldn’t leave. Crumpling to the ground he sat with his notes and really just wanted a nap. Casual napping wasn’t something Coble normally did. Cameras, Coble dreamt about cameras. Cameras were flashing, and making more noise than most objects should make. Confused, Coble opened his eyes. Clouds were above him but so was a girl, a girl with a camera.

“Couldn’t you close your eyes again?”

Coble was taken aback. Complying, he closed them.

“Can’t I have your name though?”

“Chelsea.”

“Coble.”

Chelsea stopped snapping pictures and Coble opened his eyes.

“Coble, what a pretty name!”

Contemplating this, copious amounts of considerations coursed through his brain. Carefully, he decided. “Couldn’t you come to dinner with me tonight Chelsea?”

Chelsea thought, snapped a picture and nodded.

Coble smiled. Coble wasn’t such a bad name after all and two was a much better number to have stuck in his head than one.

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Pogo

Daily Prompt

I can’t believe he’s not bored yet. Rich could watch fishing shows until, well forever. If Connie didn’t ever say, “Okaaaay, I’m going to bed.” Rich wouldn’t lean forward slowly and pull himself out of his comfy chair. That’s what he calls it, the “Comfy Chair”. It doesn’t even look that nice, even the couch is better. My favorite place is the floor. If the “Comfy Chair” was kibble, than the floor is bacon. I’m telling you; it’s nice! It’s always cool and you can spread yourself out any way you like. Sometimes when no one is watching I like to lie on my back, stick my legs up, and pretend like I’m riding a bike. When anyone comes in the room I flip over real quick though. Haven’t been caught yet. I wish I could ride a bike. I wish a lot of things, like: that cats were slower or that people ate on the ground instead of at that stupid invention everyone calls a table. More than anything in the world though I wish that RICH WOULD CHANGE THE CHANNEL. I’m going crazy. This channel is starting to make me itch. Oh wait that’s not the television.

Anyways, Spooner, the dog next door told me that the next instance of time stopping is any minute now. If you’re human and reading this you’re probably like, “Yeah right, Pogo time doesn’t stop.” But I bet up until now you thought dogs didn’t write either. Shows how much you know. Time does stop. In fact it stops all the time. The thing is, when time stops so does everything else, except dogs of course. For some reason we’re free to roam as we please. This occasional sense of freedom really freaks some of my buddies out. Warren, the bulldog down the street, always has a mini panic attack. Sometimes we have to give him a paper bag to breathe into. (One time we tried to use one of those bags that we poop into but that made Warren faint. Another time we just gave him a bag with poop in it. That actually made his panic attack stop but he got really really mad because we put it too close to his face and poop got up his nose.) Fanny, one of the two poodles that lives behind me always tries to wake her owners up. But they can’t wake up, at least not until time starts again. So Fanny’s owners are always confused as to why they scratches on them.

Then there are the smart dogs like me who take advantage of their time away from time. I’ve been on roadtrips, learned how to weld, and gotten my bachelor’s degree, but this time I’ve got only one thing in mind…I’m going to change the channel.

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