A piece of flash I’d like to submit for this: http://www.apexbookcompany.com/blogs/frontpage/15271873-apex-magazine-presents-steal-the-spotlight-micro-fiction-contest
Two versions, because I’m indecisive. Also it doesn’t have a title yet, so any ideas welcomed.
Contrary to popular myth, the black dog doesn't come looking for you. It's already there. Most people just don't see it until the right moment, but I'm not most people. I often wish I was.“What do you reckon, March?”
My partner gets down on all fours to examine the woman’s body. The miniature poodle by her side fades silently, black curls wisping to smoke, but although I’m careful not to look directly into the fire of her red eyes, I can tell they’re sad. According to Marchy, a black dog is never out of work for long. Someone’s always getting born.
March can’t say if assignments are random or tailored. If they’re specific to the individual, I don’t want to know why I got a portly black labrador in a trench coat and shades, whose greatest joy in life is pepper jerky. As I watch, he sucks in the end of his current stick, chews, and swallows.
“I think we’re close,” he says, his nose working as he snuffs the air. “I think this is a warning. Back off, or…”
He stiffens, hackles raised, and I jump back, but the gunshot sound and the sharp pain come simultaneously. March turns toward me slow and gentle, jerky drool in his whiskers, tail drooping.
I press both hands to my chest. “No! Call an ambulance!”
“I’m sorry, Jon.” And as the edges of my vision turn to black, March puts a paw to his muzzle and begins to lift his shades.
Contrary to popular myth, the black dog doesn't come looking for you. It's already there. Most people just don't see it until the right moment, but I'm not most people. I often wish I was.“What do you reckon, March?”
My partner, on all fours, examines the woman’s body. The miniature poodle by her side fades silently, black curls wisping to smoke, but although I’m careful not to look directly into the fire of her red eyes, I can tell they’re sad. According to March, a black dog is never out of work for long. Someone’s always getting born.
“I think we’re close,” he says, sucking in his stick of pepper jerky. Chews. Swallows. “I think this is a warning. Back off, or…”
He stiffens and I jump back, but the gunshot sound and the sharp pain come simultaneously. March turns toward me slow and gentle, jerky drool in his whiskers.
I press both hands to my chest. “No! Call an ambulance!”
“I’m sorry, Jon.” And, for the first time in our long partnership, the black labrador turns to look me squarely in the eye.
What do you think? Is it more effective if I don’t make it obvious that his partner is a black dog until the end, or does that look like a cheat? (I prefer the first one, myself, but mostly because I like the description of March.)
Thanks for reading!