Flash Fiction

Here's a little ditty I recently wrote for a class I'm enrolled in this term. I worked harder on editing this than I do for most of my pieces and further edits probably await it for the class, however when I stopped, it was one of those rare moments where I was completely satisfied with the piece. It is far from perfect, but I enjoyed writing it and I hope you all enjoy it.

Legs

Judging by just how black the sky seemed, Richard knew it had to be after midnight; he was pleased. He slowed his pace and rounded the final curve of another long but rewarding lap on the empty high school track. Happy with his time, he grabbed his backpack and began jogging at a brisk pace for the apartment. After arriving, he stood behind the hedges that lined the highway next to his complex so he could change unseen. He pulled a black t-shirt over his chilling shoulders and a pair of khakis on over his spandex shorts. With a frown, Richard removed his tennis shoes, gently wrapping them in his soaked track jersey, and replaced them with a black pair of high tops. He composed himself outside the front door and then slunk into the living room. As expected, his father had managed to find his way onto the couch, but not off, and was snoring quietly before the television. He opened his eyes sleepily, and focused on Richard. His relief was obvious, and he of course asked where his son had been. Richard spun a quick and easy yarn about a party at Frank’s place, and looked for the inevitable disappoint in the old man’s face and, as usual, Richard felt regret. He sat down and assured his father that there was no trouble and showered him with the customary apologies. After some time, things relaxed, and Richard saw his father begin reaching for the spoke of his chair. “Don’t worry about it Pop, I got you,” he said, rising and walking towards him. He lifted the man easily and carried him down the short hall, past the framed ribbons, podium photos, and shining trophies. He laid him gently in the bed, taking care to avoid bumping or bruising the soft rounded part of what was left of his father’s knees. Richard returned to the living room and sunk into the couch to watch the final minutes of the old VHS tape his father had been replaying. He saw a much younger man, a stronger man, one who knew very little about fear, insecurity, or car crashes; dominating the final leg of the relay, leaving his competitors far behind him. Richard turned off the tape just as his father crossed the finish line and then found his way to his bedroom in the dark, imaging the roar of the crowd. He unpacked his backpack into a small box kept under his bed, pausing only for a few moments when he was transferring two brilliant gold medals. He stared at the awards with the briefest hint of smile until the shrill sound of a car horn broke the still night air. With that, the medals were dropped into the box , hidden away, and Richard lay across his bed, thinking only of the long and winding turns of the track.