The House #FridayReflections

This post has been written on this picture prompt for #FridayReflections

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As I looked at the house from a distance, my heart was filled with nervous anticipation. My palms were clenched and I was already profusely sweating. I was in a dilemma. My heart wanted me to take the plunge yet again while my mind wanted me to tug on to the last semblance of logic and stay put.

I had not been able to erase the events of the other day from my memory. To be honest, it wouldn’t work even if I tried. It isn’t everyday that one survives an almost fatal attack by a bloodhound or gets the fragments of his clothes spattered all over someone’s living room.

Yet, here I was, cursing myself under my breath for being such a lunatic. The wait was beginning to make me restless though. Just then, I heard the familiar sound of the car ignition. Finally, as expected, they were leaving.

I rechecked my shirt pocket to make sure I had what I wanted and ventured slowly in the direction of the house. The window was open. I could see her silhouette. She was wearing a white dress, just as I had insisted her to. She was nervously pacing back and forth. She seemed worried for me. How sweet.

With renewed zeal and resolve, the smitten I finally reached the window on the ground floor. I looked around. There was no sign of the watchman or that godforsaken creature. I climbed up the window and was almost half way in, when suddenly I felt I heard that dreaded sound of death again.

As I looked back, there he was, towering over me with fire pouring through his fuming eyes, the same black Doberman pinscher that had exposed my innerwear to the world and had almost bitten me the other day. I smartly took out the small piece of bone from my shirt pocket and threw it in his direction which, unfortunately for me, hit him in the eye.

Everything happened in quick succession after that and I can recollect it only hazily. There was a lot of crying and screaming which in all probability was me. There was a flicker of white somewhere and some considerable pushing and pulling. My jeans and footwear were hopelessly trying to shield me from this hate crime. The good part was when she held my hand and asked me kindly, “Are you alright?”

I swore that henceforth I would never have anything to do with anything black. As I was being taken away to the hospital in a car all crumpled and tattered, the last image I saw was that of the house, from a distance.

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