Impediment

A small crime takes place

She sat on the rigid bench  before him on the opposite side of the wide, cracked sidewalk. Spidery fingers clutched a crisp copy of Wuthering Heights. Her reddish-brown eyes bore into it. Her thick angular eyebrows were furrowed. Now and then she brushed back a loose strand of reddish-brown curls.

He found her quite elegant. Her slender body was wrapped in a pleated, flowing crimson dress. Her purse lay at her feet. It was red, like her outfit. Her right foot tapped the pavement, as though she were impatient. She turned over a cream-colored page.

He slouched on the other brown bench.  His long legs were crossed. One large hand cupped his chin. Sighing, he tousled his unkempt hair. He kept his blue eyes on her, disregarding the prominent glares she threw at him.

A middle-aged man walked by. He wore a neon-yellow jump suit, trying to detract attention from his balding scalp. An eager pug galloped at his side. The dog’s bulging eyes darted between the benches. His bulky body sprang towards the girl. He snooped around her bench, casting furtive glances at the figure still absorbed by her book. He yipped a few times.

The owner had slowed to a lethargic amble.  “Come on, Loki,” he said, “Don’t bother the pretty lady. Here boy!” He pulled on the elastic leash. The pug remained where he was, yipping. The girl ignored him, immersed in her novel. The pug snatched up the purse, his slimy drool oozing onto the stiff handle.

The owner whistled to the pug. He quickened his pace. The pug followed, struggling with the purse that was more than half of his size and weight. It got in the way of his stubby legs. The man began sprinting. “Good boy Loki! You can do it! Keep up boy!” he urged the fat creature.

The girl flipped over another lengthy page of text. Shocked, the man observing her leapt up from his warm seat. He strode over to her. His cheeks turned red. He opened his mouth to speak"nothing came out. Out of the far corner of his almond-shaped eye, he saw the thieves. They weren’t far off. He started after them.

He took long, quick strides. His lungs beat against his chest, struggling to escape his body. Oily sweat streamed down his oval face. Though weighed down by the heavy purse, the pug managed to keep up with his owner. They were slipping away.

The man could go no faster. Heaving for air, he stopped  in despair. The thieves shrank in the distance. A mist covered his eyes. The pug was no longer visible. The yellow suit became a smear against gray buildings. Bending over, the man gripped his trembling knees. He needed to steady himself. A dry, queasy sensation squeezed his throat. It plummeted to his stomach. He had forgotten his asthma, a condition that tended to cut his brief stunts of athleticism short. His ears pounded. All he heard was a loud, single-toned buzz. His heart sank, battering his ribs.

After a while, he caught his breath. He trudged back to the benches. He was in no hurry to return to the girl. His muscles ached and his head was spinning. He couldn’t feel his legs. His head was lowered, embarrassed that he had failed to recover the girl’s purse because of his own impediment, and ashamed that he had even attempted the heroic deed just because he had wanted to impress her.

The girl soon came into his view. Her face was bent downwards.  She was still occupied  with the book’s complicated plot. When he stood a foot away from her, he stammered, “M-miss?” She raised her heart-shaped head and gave a fleeting look over his exhausted figure. One of her thick eyebrows was raised, as if she meant to ask him “Well?”, but refused to waste words on one so insignificant. He shook his head, saying, “I’m…sorry, miss...They got away. I tried…I’m really sorry.” She shrugged her slight shoulders in a dismissive manner. Her thin red lips curved into a sneer. She let out a short huff of air from her straight aquiline nose before turning her attention back to her book. The man sighed again. He bowed his head in defeat and walked away, leaving the girl on her cold bench to finish her thick book. 

Author's Note

Please be constructive, but not mean. Thank you :)

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

This is the second story of yours I've read this morning. Being mainly a prose writer myself on this site dominated by poets, (most of them bad) I enjoy finding a good writer like you.
Again, I see that you have a talent for story-telling. My only critique of this piece is that you have many short sentences that make things a bit choppy.

[Cassandra Vasiliu]

Thank you again for a review on my works!! Thank you for the compliments! I will keep that critique in mind when writing other pieces- I tend to make some sentences either too short or much too long! It's something I need to work on! Thank you!