Why I Regret Playing with My Five-year-old Niece
It’s about nine months into the pandemic. I’m in my study room, staring at the digital drawing in front of me. I yawn. My eyes tear up. The drawing gets blurry. I’m feeling drowsy. Alright, time for a break.
I close the drawing app, put my tablet away, get up, and head to the kitchen. I’m on my way to pour myself a cup of tea. I pass the living room.
Then, when I’m about to reach the kitchen, BANG! A loud noise startles me.
Huh? What was that?
I turn around and move towards the apartment door. I put my ear against it and listen. Behind the door is a staircase.
I hear a stomping sound:
What is that? Sounds like a hippo wearing flowerpots for shoes. Although… No. The stomping isn’t sluggish. It’s fast. It sounds more like a hippo furiously playing a hand clapping game (pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake).
I listen again and hear the sound getting louder. I peek through the door’s small glass panel.
Shoot! It’s coming up!
I get back to my room and make it there just in time. I close the door behind me, quietly. Then I listen again…