Leif Lanzillotta | Beyond the Gates Flash Fiction

Leif Lanzillotta

With homes peeking through the swaying trees ahead and a rusting metal fence on the opposing side, this stretch of land survives as a reminder of the lush, verdant forest that once ran rampant with life. Now deer and rabbits scurry through, afraid of our speeding cars and noisy neighbors. This sliver of nature, however, still provides a vignette of what once roamed in place of my home, and the silent, overwhelming beauty of unbothered nature, now full of metallic screams and broken dreams. My fence keeps our groomed and perfected lawn shielded from the chaotic nature around us. While the trees only sparsely cover the wild stretch of earth, the rolling land coated in devilish weeds creates an almost treacherous landscape. I lie there and watch the squirrels scamper for hours. Occasionally, deer will pass by far too close for comfort and rabbits will steal a sniff of my foreign odor. However, an old stray dog is my closest companion. I knew her back before she was abandoned when she roamed my neighborhood with perfect fur and a polished collar. Abandoned is a harsh word for her case though; her owner died living alone in the house that owns this broken fence. Maybe in some way I remind her of her beloved owner whose remains lay behind this rusty, slumping fence. I’ve done my best to care for her as she’s aged, but it’s hard to care for a dog when you’re beyond the gates.