The Roadblock

Note: This is a piece written as an exercise for characterization and perspective based on a piece of art by Norman Rockwell. 

Frank: the little boy in the corner.

Frank didn’t like school. In fact, he didn’t like most things and people. Nevertheless, every dogged morning his mother with her icy-white hair and apple-red lipstick woke him up. Frank was just a small boy with ugly braces and heavy, black spectacles; a tiny entity, an ant in all that action, momentum and movement. A dog nearly died. A bus nearly crashed. Many adults went to work late that morning. So what? He went to school late but the teacher smiled her dainty smile at him without any questions; so that was good. Frank shrugged everyone’s disconcertion as if it were an unsolicited cloak on a rather dry evening. He paused for a minute to take the near accident in and thought only of that chocolate pudding that his mother’d made last Christmas. 

The black cat on the balcony.

I’d always hated that pup, anyway. He always barked so loud, ran so fast and more importantly, he stole my food from my garbage can. His very existence was like an uncontrolled dangerous virus that could kill anyone who dared breathe near him. I stood beside the humans to get a look of him, trying to get a better look. From what I could discern, that moron of a dog had gone ahead and blocked the road. Huh, what a waste of space he was. I nearly jumped with excitement as I leaned over to get a closer look at his helpless condition. Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if the truck just run over him. I would finally eat a full meal everyday.