Window ShoppingBy Doreen Kirwan
Flash Fiction
HE STOPPED, wistfully wishing himself into the scene, becoming part of the magic. The street sounds faded and he could almost hear the figures speak. Smiling, he nudged his tongue into the gap where his front teeth had been. He thought the three wise men called to him, imagining himself leading the camel before them.
“Do you know what I’d love,” he asked half-turning. The lop-sided grin froze as, wide-eyed, he scanned the crowd around him. He could practically hear his own voice coming back unanswered. Panic gripped him, tears rushing down his face. The words choked him, refused to be coughed up. He pushed through the crowd, breathing fast and convulsive. The cold air hurt his chest as he gulped it in. Finally the words spilled out in a long piercing wail, “Daddy where are you?”
Running he forced his way through the milling shoppers. Where had he gone to so quickly? His eyes darted in every direction, so much traffic, which way to go? Bodies jostled him unaware of his terror. Bags with sharp edges nudged his legs. Shifting from one foot to the other he tried to see through the crowd. He felt the comforting shape of the dinosaur in his pocket. T Rex, king of dinosaurs, big and brave.
He bit his lower lip, feeling the blood in his mouth, tears welled up again as another problem arose. He felt the hand grab his shoulder at the same time as he lost control and the hot liquid slid down his leg. A sharp slap startled him. The smarting leg, wet and cold caught his attention and he forgot his panic.
“What the hell were you playing at? You could have been killed.” The words lashed his ears. Through his tears he saw the familiar figure bending down to him. He could smell the familiar aftershave. Relief mingled with the hurt, which replaced his fear. He snivelled as he looked up towards the face he most wanted to see.
“Don’t ever do anything like that again,” his father said, softer now as he lifted him up above the shoppers. He felt a little braver, shoulder-high tight against his daddy’s ears. He shifted, the cold dampness making him uncomfortable.
Absently, he picked at loose threads. “You won’t fall,” his father assured him, raising the struggling body and adjusting the weight on his shoulders. Jack felt more comfortable, he relaxed his grip.
“You’re an awful boy,” his father’s voice kinder now. “You gave me an awful fright. I thought I’d lost you.”
“Do you know what I saw?” Jack said, feeling more sure of himself. “Enough of what you saw,” his father said. “If your mother knew she’d kill the pair of us.” Jack knew his father was no longer angry, “You should have seen it dad, it was great.” His words got lost in his father’s hair. “And anyway, you lost me Dad,” he added wisely, “because I didn’t move at all.”
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