Flash! Fiction by Peter McMillan - HTML preview

87

Just after five, when the last bin was driven off, and the machine monster had been loaded and chained in place on the heavy equipment hauler, the first real snow of the season started falling. It was sticking and probably covering the scarred land where Herman's house had been. If this kept up, I'd still be able to see out my window all night long, though now there’d just be a hole between two houses.

It’s not as if I liked or disliked Herman. I don't even know if Herman was his name. We never spoke or waved or anything. He kept to himself, too. Years ago when I used to get out, I’d walk my dog past his house a couple of times a day, and he was always there at the window. That was it. Two doors down and that’s the extent of our lives crossing. Nevertheless, I felt kinda sorry to see his house get ripped apart like that and treated like garbage. Maybe it's because I can see someone looking out their window one day and watching mine get demolished. I know it WILL happen. Watching Herman's house come down, I FELT it.

First published in Larks Fiction Magazine, Issue 9, Volume 3, February 26, 2012.