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Writer's pictureEmily Dixon

The Garage

 

It’s dark in here. And cold. I hope he lets me out today. It’s been a long time since I was allowed to leave the garage. He let me out in the summer for a short run, it was glorious – I was relieved to come back into the shade of this garage.

 

But it’s winter now.

 

It's just me and the boxes in here. I don’t know what’s in them. There used to be more when she lived here too, but she left and took her stuff. She was the one who told him to put me here – that I was unsightly, and she was embarrassed to be seen anywhere near me. I didn’t like her, she scratched me on purpose then claimed it wasn’t her.

 

It was!

 

I can hear something! The up and over door is opening, it sounds a bit stiff from not being used. There he is! Am I going to be allowed out today?

 

“Hello, my darling.” He walks around me, inspecting me, and lets his hand brush across my rear. He touched me! I haven’t felt his touch for months – he used to come and talk to me when he first put me in here, caress me while washing the dirt from my body, telling me he missed me.

 

Then he stopped coming. Because of her.

 

“Shall we go out today, baby? Just me and you?”

He’s stroking me with a soft cloth, it feels so good. His voice is low, almost as if he’s purring like the ginger cat that used to visit me.

 

Gently, he guides me from the garage – I move slowly, it’s cold. Winter brings freezing winds, leaves blowing around and slippery roads. Summer is nice, though it has its own share of problems – overheating, dehydration, and bugs… bugs everywhere!

 

We set off and instead of going the way we did before, down the back roads, he steers me around the corner that leads to the high street. I’ve warmed up a bit so we’re moving slightly faster, but he makes me slow down so he can greet a friend.

 

“Hey Mark!” He makes me stop and waves to a man.

 

“Michael… how you doing?” The man gives me a slow, appreciative, once-over, his eyes roaming all over my body. “Man, she’s beautiful.”

 

“I know, right?” He’s stroking me again, admiration in his voice. This feels amazing. “She’s perfect. Mandy never liked her, but she left.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that mate.” The man seems genuine, then looks at me again with longing in his eyes. “But seriously Mike, where have you been hiding this one? She is…” He throws his hands up. “Spectacular!”

 

 

“I know, I’m a lucky man!” He laughs, he hasn’t taken his hands from me yet. “Gotta go Mark, I feel like showing her off.” He moves me away from his friend, gently, and we’re back on our way.

 

Mark stands there, watching Michael drive off in a red 1966 Ford Shelby GT350.

 

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