Little Agnes Fleck

Little Agnes Fleck

Agnes Fleck is the old lady who waits at the bus stop, where one never used to be. Her handbag is her defining feature; humorously reminiscent of Mary Poppin’s which is the cause for the stay of a passer-by. Curiosity abounds and that is how she grabs one’s attention. She is nothing special, but people find the urge to question her choice in accessories.  Though a frail lady the breeze always seems strong enough to cause her girth to sway.  This is cause for concern within the watcher, for fear she could quite easily stumble.

Agnes Fleck has an air about her, one that makes you guilty for not keeping regular contact with your grandmother. Giving our caring nature to strangers nowadays, we try to convince ourselves she is fine, that our help is unnecessary. The sun is setting, and we need to hurry to our homes.

However, there are chance moments were one man, or a single lady, may take unnatural interest in Agnes Fleck. Being a good natured soul that they are, they approach her to be sure she, truly, is in need of no assistance. They take in her canary yellow dress, the pink cardigan and the forest green hat, hardly an ensemble of the age. Her grey hair is in a loose bun; some loose strands are frazzled and out of place, effectively hiding her features. Upon one’s proximity, it is clear to see her withered hand clutching her chest.

The civilian asks, “Miss, do you need a doctor?” or, “Can I help you, ma’am?” By this stage, everything comes to an end for this seasoned helper. Agnes Fleck turns, her skin a deathly shade of blue, with eyes of silver mist. Her lips part, cracked and breath like the deceased. Her jaw widens with the sound of postmortem stiffness.

The next thing that poor soul is privy too is the darkening of another day. Night sets as cold as their extremities, the street on eye-level. The old lady is gone, the bus stop nonexistent, the street silent of life.

What has replaced her is a figure in black. Understanding soon clouds their eyes as they, too, become as misted as little old Agnes Fleck’s.