As dawn breaks on this August day, and the sun hovers between the branches of the swaying trees, Missy stares into the eyes of the predator.

From an early age, life for Missy had been a confusion of rules: do this … but never do that. "Avoid black cats - they're bad luck," her mother would say , "and don't walk under ladders, because that's bad luck as well."

Her mother had told Missy never to put flowers in the room of a sick person: the vegetation will suck out all of the oxygen. But if that was the case, why did the staff at the Treetops Home for Special Seniors, where Granny had spent her final years, allow those huge displays of flowers? Missy knew it was wrong. And, sure enough, her Granny had passed away.

Now, on this summer morning, Missy is also in trouble.

Her mother has sent her to the corner-shop to buy tea-bags and milk. But just by the post-box her concentration is destroyed by the sudden sound of a car horn. She tries to regain her composure, but her left foot seems beyond her control. As the pink trainer touches the ground, its outer edge spans the gap between paving-slab and kerb-stone.

If only she had done as mother had told her!

The beast appears from nowhere. The huge animal stands on its hind legs and growls a murderous sound. Bared teeth and hooked claws flash in the morning sunlight. Missy can feel the breath on her face, smell the acrid stench of bile, and see her own fragile form reflected in the those huge, brown eyes.

She would never have been breakfast for the bears if only Missy had avoided the cracks in the pavements.

© John Allen 2007

6^th August 2007

From the 'Missy / Crack' prompt.