Photo by Random Institute on Unsplash
by Rebecca Field
Because when I looked around, there was nobody on that aisle, just a man at the very end with a toddler in a pushchair, pointing at the tanks full of Neon Tetras and I knew he wouldn’t bother me. Because the boxes were so small, so cramped, like little plastic coffins with airholes filled with condemned insects, oblivious in their chirping, unwitting meals for captive lizards and it hurt my heart to see them. Because the plaintive chirps as I passed made me think about walking through meadows, clifftop paths in summertime, holidays barelegged and sunburned, blue skies and shining suns, of times other than afternoons on anonymous retail parks shopping for cat food. Because maybe the sensible choice is the one that you’ll remember, turn over in your mind and question; what if, what if? Because part of me knew that if somebody saw me, if they raised the alarm, if a security guard came running, tackled me to the ground, wrenched those boxes from my grasp, even if half of those crickets got trampled in the ensuing chaos, I wouldn’t regret it, not for one moment. I’d raise my arms in surrender and watch those crickets hop through the automatic door, smile as they raced for freedom.
Rebecca Field lives and writes in Derbyshire, UK. She has flash fiction in several print anthologies and has been published online by The Phare, Ghost Parachute, Fictive Dream, Gone Lawn, Tiny Molecules and Milk Candy Review among others. X/Bluesky: @RebeccaFwrites
