Very Short and More than Obscure

“So.”

He sits there, thinking. That’s how the story begins. So, he sits there thinking, that’s how the story begins, but then he stops and notices it’s raining outside.

“Raining?”

Outside. Soaking wet, wondering if he’ll ever get inside, Sparky watches the woman as she moves to and fro in the warm cozy kitchen. A sauce with the thick scent of meat simmers on the stove and bread bakes in the oven. The woman seems happy, in her element, made for moments like this, cooking for a family that loves to eat. She hums a little tune and smiles a little smile.

Sparky shook himself vigorously and moved out of the rain to a place less wet, just outside the kitchen door under eave shaded by a tree. He smelled the wet of the rain and the cold of the air. He smelled the dirt running off the concrete path. He smelled a duck flying overhead. He smelled the yeast of baking bread. He smelled the woman and perhaps he smelled the man too. Sparky stretched, then fell onto the door mat, closed his eyes, and listened to the rain.

So. That’s how the story begins. A dog, rain. He’s sitting there. Thinking. About stories. Stories like a dream. Dreams of squirrels. Sparky ran after it. Sparky’s limp sleeping body twitched. The rain came down harder. The woman cooks, stews with thick gravy. Biscuits and muffins. Exotic teas steeping in near boiling water.

“They found her of course, about an hour later. Dead. The bread was burnt. She forgot to turn the oven off. She was making dinner, then she died. But she forgot to turn off the oven. The dog had been left outside in the rain and was soaked. “

The doctor looked at the patient who looked out the window. The doctor had heard the story before, fantastic and implausible. The patient loved to tell stories but they all ended the same way. The dog left outside in the rain.

The patient forgot the doctor was there. He only looked out of the window at the pond off in the distance. He saw an airplane flying the blue sky. He saw birds migrating and the leaves fluttering the in wind. Faintly he could smell water on concrete and yeast in baking bread. So. That’s how the story begins. He repeated the words in his mind, over and over. That’s how the story begins. That’s how the story begins. That’s how the story begins.