Flash Fiction Friday

Woodsworth’s Bad Day

Woodsworth looked up at the sky and assessed the probability of rain. There were clouds, not unexpectedly, but they appeared thin compared to recent days. He decided it would be worth the risk of getting wet to crawl out of this hole he’d dug for himself.

Seasonal Affective Disorder had kept his head down far too long. Even his home had felt damp and close. Maybe if he got some fresh air his winter blues would abate a little. It wouldn’t hurt to try. And who could say he wouldn’t run into a chatty neighbor while out and about? That would be a welcome change of pace from the perpetual solitude.

In fact, wasn’t that “Muddy” Jackson sticking his head out just down the way? Woodsworth hadn’t had a chance to catch up with that old so-and-so since late summer. He felt kind of guilty, truth be told. “Muddy” had been in an accident before the first leaves fell and remained housebound ever since, apparently until just now. He should have visited. The eccentric character looked warily about as if afraid the hit and run perpetrator might still be lurking.

Perhaps they could spend a few minutes shooting the breeze to bolster each other’s spirits. Soon enough, bad weather was sure to send Woodsworth scurrying back to earth. He never had liked winter. Just seeing “Muddy” notice him and wave in response cheered the younger fellow. Woodsworth happily quickened his pace.

A friendly face would be just the tonic for a weary soul. When that kindly expression changed to horror, all Woodsworth could do was look up. He’d foolishly exposed himself before another glance at the sky.

Was it a crow? Perhaps the very one that had very nearly eaten “Muddy”? The damage had been bad, that beak doing almost more damage than the aged worm could regenerate from. Woodsworth braced himself and hoped to be so lucky. But the soft soil inches away was at his back and he didn’t see so much as a leaf under which he could try and hide.

*splat*

The driver of the sedan parked and started to reach for his umbrella. He laughed upon realizing his error. For the first time in days he didn’t need to dodge the blasted rain.

Wrinkling his nose, he barely avoided stepping on a flattened worm. Why did the little buggers always seem to litter the pavement at this time of year? Whatever the reason, it sure didn’t seem good for the health of that poor wriggler.

~the end~

Author’s note: I hope you enjoyed my silly ficlet, based on the sight of a parking lot after days of rain.