Three Paragraph Thursdays: If It Isn't The Dogs, It's The People

Here's a three paragraph story to get you to the end of your week. Enjoy

If It Isn't The Dogs, It's The People

Margaret screamed for her life as she slammed the steel fence door behind and clutched her mailbag. Cold rain splashed onto her face as she sucked at the moist air, trying to slow her heartbeat. She lowered herself onto the wet cement and rested her back against the fence. The dog pounced onto the other side of the feeble wire wall and snarled loudly at her, trying to bite through the fence at Margaret's large neck. Puffs of heated breath pushed Margaret's sloppy hair onto her red face. As the dog continued to chew and bark, Margaret lowered her face into her hands and wept.
Everyday was like this. If it wasn't the dogs, it was the people. The teenagers would yip about how Margaret was huffing up and down the hilly neighborhood. The adults would look down at Margaret from their second stories, watching her cautiously as she placed their grocery coupons in the mail boxes. Then they'd close their curtains and howl menacingly about how she was losing her ankles. The old people would stand at their porches in the shade and snap and spit at Margaret for not lifting up her "chubby cheeks" to give them a smile. Margaret was the product of a country ashamed and embarrassed by its size so it had to make fun of others. And as the dog pounded its head into the fence, Margaret felt it. The anger and anguish, always from the other side of the fence. She kept crying.
But the sound of rhythmic splashing slowly crept into Margaret's ears. She looked up at a toddler in bright yellow boots making his way down the grey sidewalk. It took him a few minutes but he got to Margaret and looked down. The child was young and fresh looking aside from a small river running from his nose to his mouth, which pooled at a large chocolate chip cookie. He smiled and waved at Margaret who wiped the tears from her eyes and found herself smiling back. He pulled out another cookie from his pocket and held it out to Margaret. She laughed slightly and graciously accepted the gift. Then the name "Timothy" bellowed out from a nearby house and the boy continued to skip down the cement for a few feet until he arrived home. He turned back, waved goodbye to Margaret and disappeared. Margaret pocketed the cookie and pulled herself up. The clouds began to part as Margaret adjusted her mailbag. She looked at the dog just as it was about to bark at her once more and she barked back "DOWN!". It cowered against the grass and Margaret went on her way, humming to herself.