The dog scrutinized her through the glass door of the high-rise building. His wet pitch black coat shone smooth as glaze over metal, and for an instant she perceived him as a bad omen, a gigantic raven, haunting her. And yet, his gaze was benign, his attitude tentative and curious at the same time. Flakes of snow settled continually on his muzzle and shoulders, shriveling and melting, like grains of sand measuring his time out in the cold. Irene, still and uncertain, eyes squinting from the sunset glow, met his gaze, then promptly switched her attention to her own reflection in the door, her curly hair in disarray, her arms hanging pointlessly along her body. She had nearly tripped over the dog who approached her unexpectedly as she arrived home earlier, lost in her usual musings. Their eyes locked for a moment, in a question and answer one-two. She moved away, though, determined to ignore him.
Continue reading “The Evening of the Black Dog Lavinia Andrei Jennings”
literally stories 