The following flash fiction is the latest in the series “MacDougal Drive” featured on this site and The Roost

The previous entries

Bill

Jimmy

Dolores

Harley

Bill Vol. 2

Jimmy, too

The weeds had grown high and their roots clung to the deep parts of the earth. Dolores dug a perimeter around, gripped tightly and pulled the stubborn roots out. She was careful to not leave anything behind as the weed would soon be back to full height if she missed any part. The sun was high and bright but not painfully hot. This was the kind of day that normally would have brought her peace, but nothing was normal anymore. Not since Walter, not since the attacks on those kids. Everything was wrong.

Bill came out of his house, a half-smoked cigarette dangled from his mouth, and headed down the driveway. He nodded in her general direction but offered no greeting. His eyes were bloodshot and yellow sweat stains spotted his undershirt. She could practically smell the stale booze even from this distance. She watched him disgustedly as he rummaged through the mail and flicked his butt into the dry gutter, and then scratched himself without any shame.

“How’s your mother, Bill?” She called out to him on his way back up the driveway.

He slowed only slightly, replied without looking at her. “Stronger every day.”

“You give me that answer every day.”

Bill stopped and finally looked at Dolores. “Mrs. Greyson, she might just outlive us all.”

“The way you’ve been carrying on, that doesn’t surprise me.”

He lit another cigarette. “What’s that mean?”

“Don’t think I don’t hear you coming home late from whatever sin infested hole you’ve been, stumbling drunk and laughing like a maniac.”

A smile crept across his face. “Why, Dolores, have you been spying on me?”

She shook her head in disgust. “You’re a grown man, Bill. Start acting like it.”

The smile disappeared. “I don’t mean any disrespect.”

“You’ve got responsibilities.”

“I’m honoring them.”

They stared at each other for a long, drawn out moment. Bill then turned and went back to the house.

“You shouldn’t smoke in the house, there’s a sick woman in there.”

No reply. Bill closed the door behind him. Dolores felt herself grow hot with rage. This whole world made no sense to her anymore. She went back down on her knees and started pulling at the weeds again.

She could feel the slight extra weight of the glock tucked into the waistline in the back of her pants. That weight brought her comfort. She tried for a moment to remember just when she had started carrying the weapon around with her as she gardened, but couldn’t quite put her finger on it, probably a couple months. A growing distrust of this neighborhood, the same on she had lived in for over forty years, constantly threatened to overwhelm her. This street, this town, this world really, needed cleaning. Disease was spreading all around, tainting everything she held dear. Walter wouldn’t have stood idly by, he’d have taken action. That was just the kind of man he was. Dolores felt her eyes grow wet so she shoved everything from her mind and refocused her concentration to the task at hand. With the right tools and some determination, these weeds posed very little problem. A slight breeze picked up and for the briefest of moments, it washed away the smell of decay that had recently saturated MacDougal Drive.