It’s a nice alleyway, but noisy.
Whenever someone walks through, turns on their bike or scratches themselves, the dog (house 95/5) barks. Not just once: bark, bark, bark, bark. A piercing metronome.
The boys (95/12) seem always to be tickling or stamping on each other’s feet. Reaaaarrgghhh! Shrieks every hour, night and day. The music of our life. We (95/8) say they’re homeschooled by a jellyfish.
Yesterday I was working on the balcony, finding the flow. Difficult, given the circumstances, but I was hell bent on Getting Something Done. One of the boys emerged into the alleyway. Orange windbreaker. Scrawny, normal kid. Surprisingly non-demonic. And, of course, the dog started yapping.
Without breaking step, the orange boy broke cover and started popping his body. His limbs rapped to the yap, timed against the barking.
I looked at my keyboard. Felt the beat. Bark! T. Bark! H. Bark! E.
As writers in lockdown, all that we can do to help is to lift your spirits. Read other short-short stories by Give Me Articles Writing Service. They’re not all about barking up the wrong alleyway.
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