a short story

The morning was calm with a slight breeze and butterflies in the form of snowflakes were fluttering gently down to the ground to rest. There they waited until the sun's rays would eventually coax them to transform into their liquid state and then evaporate and join their family in rebirth of more crystal snowflakes. The girl had just stepped off the bus and quickly checked her bag to make sure her new, red mittens were safely tucked away. There they were safe and sound, and she was contently on her way to university where she would learn of various important and interesting subjects. She was trailing behind others who had dismounted the bus before her, all on their way to school or work. She thought of her little dog at home, all alone, in his kennel. Before she had left her little apartment, she checked to make sure the stove was off and nothing was on that could catch fire. She could not bear the thought of her little puppy surrounded by flames with no one to help him to safety. 

While she was on the trail to class, she thought of her boyfriend who didn't answer his phone when she had called that morning. Perhaps he was still asleep, or better yet, maybe, just maybe, he had actually gotten up early and swam at his school. He always said he would get up early to fight the water's resistant pull, but he had not accomplished that goal yet once that semester. In fact, the girl never believed him when he so valiantly decried his commitment to the next morning, but she always smiled anyways and thought he was the most darling thing. Her thoughts quickly turned to how odd it was how the behind of the girl in front of her swooshed back and forth so violently as she walked. The girl wondered if her own butt rocked back and forth like that while she, herself, walked. She certainly hoped not because it was not appealing to her whatsoever. 

The slight breeze was a little chilly, nipping at her ears and the back of her head, so the girl drew her hood and continued on her way. She crossed the road and passed under the daunting trees which groaned under the weight of their own branches. Other thoughts passed nonchalantly through the young woman's mind, nothing sinister, nothing outrageous, when suddenly something hit the top of her hood while walking under the branches. "That must have been a drop of water," she concluded while searching for other explanations. Another explanation did arise, one which was only a flicker of possibility and chance, but she did not dwell on it.

The girl quickly turned into a damsel in distress as she reached her hand up to her hood to check, just in case, if her fears had come true. Her palm brushed something wet, and with her hand held out in front of her she let out a low lamentation in the midst of the sounds of footsteps crushing dry snow. There, on her hand, was a mixture of brown, yellow, and white. The colours of none other than fowl feces.