Plain Jane's Rooftop

Prosetry often affords some poetic license fused with flash fiction that otherwise would be but a perception without words.

Plain Jane’s Rooftop


Seems just yesterday plain Jane's heart kept perfect time.
Ticking, never losing a beat.  Days seemed good.  Nights seemed hopeful.

The streets of her borough, barren of Manhattan’s chaos, knew calm.  Knew boring.  Knew best the convenience store, all-night Texaco station, weekdays by habit, weekends by...

McDonalds was big at one end of the street, KFC at the other.  Frosty Freeze in the middle.  Around the corner, Lucky's Bar stayed alive into the wee hours. 

Way back, biker guy liked her.  Told her she was pretty, deserved wind in her hair.  She bought it.  He delivered it.  Both regretted it.

He biked on down to Mexico.  She hitched into NY.  Wrote home: I'm a Kelly Girl!

Life remained livable, even with her heart still roaming, exposed and vulnerable.  Then, Burt came along.  Young, educated smoothie.  Wall Street predator by day, trophy hunter by night.  Plain Jane, unfortunately got in his sights.  One night. Two nights.  No nights.

Atop her apartment roof, that place all the lonely people frequent, she visited every night.  Lights of the city meant something.  She didn't know what.

Hers was a wounded heart.  She knew it. Far too many others did as well.  Still, finally, she found some special moments of rest.  Time wound her back up.  More ticking.  Important ticking.  Love ticking.  Until it didn't.

Tag on scruffy-mutt's collar said “Reggie,” another frequent roof visitor.  Gave her licks and wags.  He crouched beside her, watched the stars together-every night. ‘til the winter snows came.

Reggie still visits the roof.  Wanders about sniffing.  Can't find plain Jane, but when he lies down at the edge of the roof, some say her reflection is still there in his eyes.