Short story: A Stranger

Genevieve

A stranger walks by – I follow him. He is a tall fellow with dark brown curly hair which he has grown carefully – the curls are yet to be called wild. Although he nods his head to the music he is listening to, he is setting a brisk pace, eager to get to where he is going – band practice, I assume from the guitar that he is carrying on his back. He must be musically inclined. I marvel at the pace he is setting with such a heavy load. He is late. Perhaps too much time was wasted getting that hair into place and that ‘I just threw it on’ look. A red and black chequered shirt opened and underneath a snugly fit black top, teamed with dark denim jeans and converses. He looks good, I admit, I notice a woman jogging by give him the ‘one-over’ as she passes him. I smile, the first time this week I realise, perhaps that’s why he doesn’t mind me following him, he likes the attention, and he has glanced back twice now. Maybe I should leave him; I don’t want him to take out a restraining order before he has even made it.

 

Caleb

Shit – I’m going to be late for my guitar lesson. That is the last time I go on a club crawl with Duke, he knows how to have too much of a good time. I pick up the pace.

I glance back and notice a brown and black cat behind me, move faster. Slightly surprised, I pick up the pace. The cat moves faster. I must be really hangover, because it seems like the cat is following me. It’s staring at me with eyes that are too intelligent for a cat. I wonder if it has run away or is lost. I smile and shake my head at the direction my thoughts have taken – a cat, man I must still be drunk. No more pub or club crawls, okay maybe pubs. The cat moves closer, no pubs. It’s a beautiful cat, looks really expensive – I glance back again still smiling, A young woman is behind me, the cat is no where to be seen.

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