by Jordan Faris
I tripped over the small brown dog as I turned away from the karaoke mike in the backyard. Suddenly, there it was: a kinetic gristle-flex of motion, darting under my feet, and I tried not to step on him. I jumped back, and he ran straight where I landed. His shrill yelps filled the universe and I went down, smacking against the side of the garage and drawing looks of disgust from on high, young guests whose cellphone monologues had been interrupted. I got up (hurt but not wanting to show it), and began apologizing as this angry pygmy creature ran around the yard for ten minutes, barking and bleating out his outrage and pain, staring us all down, the culpable giants, his bleared, rolling eyes ready to take us on, a forest of enemy heels and sudden collapse. I couldn't help but stifle the urge to finish the job with both feet.
Jordan Faris is an artist and writer. He's served as writer in residence for Mascara Magica, a prominent multicultural theater project in Southern California. His work has been published in Slipstream, The Wormwood Review, Xib, Puck, The Quarterly and others. He's currently developing projects in the graphic fiction genres.