My neighbour had a dog with a black mark on his nose. It was a medium-sized, dark brown German Shepherd, and my neighbour was an alcoholic redneck. He liked to put beer cans on his porch and draw on them with a Sharpie to later use as targets. He also liked to throw parties on Tuesday nights and work on junk cars on weekends. I didn’t really like him at all.
One day, as I arrived home from a long shift, I was relieved that, for once, the damn dog wasn’t barking at me. I figured it was asleep or digging something up instead of coming for my throat. Later that night, I was woken up by shouting. It sounded familiar, as the neighbour’s son got into trouble quite often, and then his dad would discipline him. I grabbed my glasses and rolled out of bed to approach the window. I looked outside right when the noises stopped. That was quick, I thought, and went back to sleep.
In the morning, when I went to my car, I saw my neighbour. We never exchange more words than necessary, but my curiosity got the best of me. I just had to see how he would react, so I turned to him:
”You know, I could get used to not being assaulted by your dog all the time.”
He sighed and looked at me as if I were the taxman banging on his door.
”Last night my kid was shooting the rifle, told him to aim at the black mark... dumbass got the wrong one.”
Sara Buku is a humble university student based in Budapest, Hungary for whom writing in the third-person is frankly a bit jarring. She's never been published before, yet has a million stories to share. She sincerely hopes you will enjoy this.
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