Why I Regret Playing with My Five-year-old Niece

Or why I wish I was more of a jerk

David B. Clear

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All images by the author.

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 run.

I get back to my room and make it there just in time. I close the door behind me, quietly. Then I listen again…

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David B. Clear

Cartoonist, science fan, PhD, eukaryote. Doesn't eat cats, dogs, nor other animals. 1,000x Bottom Writer. davidbclear.com