The Night The Dog Spoke


On the terrace he stood. Disco music thumping its way into the hearts of those inside the structure, and yet he was subtle about his movements. Cigarette between his fingers gripping it lightly; it was a nightly ritual. He’d just about had enough with people and their arrogance. What an imperfect brand. The cigarette was not to his partiality. He flicked it down to the grass below, moist with dew at this, 4 o’clock in the morning. The drinks had been flowing since a few hours before midnight and the music was still as deafening as ever, but to his surprise, it had all faded from his ears, as if someone had finally turned the DJ away. He turned and the dances were still going on, the strobe lights, and the neon signs were still lit. The people danced to the silence. He gripped his ears, sticking his finger in to identify the cause of such a catastrophical loss of a sense. He slapped his head around a few times. A girl who was just about to shyly approach him, turned away, seeing his awkward situation. His coat reflected a little moonlight, and yet absorbed it at the same time, and she couldn’t help but to wonder what was occurring. He turned to face her; his face was frantic with fear for he thought he’d gone deaf. He approached her, and she stepped back a little, though he remained undeterred.

“I can’t hear anything.” He spoke rather loudly above the sound of the music. She looked at him, mouthing the words ‘I can. Are you okay?’.

“No!” He interjected, as he twisted and writhed, trying to figure out what the problem was. He scrambled for the bathroom, toppling over a rather new waitress who would later receive the inevitable scolding from her boss. His face was pale, and beads of sweat started forming on his undershirt. People thought that he was simply going to vomit. He reached the bathroom, and cupped water in his hands, dipped his head into it, trying to release the pressure that he assumed was the cause of his loss of hearing. After a few tries with no avail, he decided to leave, although the girl, he noticed her, seemed interested with him, and he had to get in touch with her. He returned to the terrace to find her missing, her very essence gone as if wind. A little shattered, he pulled out another cigarette to calm his nervous hands which were already shaking.

A puff of smoke, and the sound was not there. The breath he took was deep, and a fourth of the cigarette had disappeared into his lungs. Halfway down the cigarette, he turned to this porcelain statue of a dog, by the corner. As if drawn to the bejewelled eyes that flickered in the moonlight-strobe light mix, he approached slowly. Almost forgetting his deafness, he stared at it, intently. The others had left the terrace or were on the other side, a farther side. Nobody was in earshot, and he wouldn’t have known anyway, since he’d gone deaf. The dog looked almost lifelike, yet it was porcelain, and the detail to chisel the hair, he was surprised that this piece remained outside, subject to harm and ghastly weather. He crouched down to stare at it, eye level. The dog sat proudly, chest out, and it almost looked as if it drew breath. He smiled as his gaze was captured.

“Why, what a wonderful creature you are. Loyal, obedient, loving, caring, nothing a human could ever do without extreme circumstances. Indeed, you are one not fit for an affair of this sort. You are one fit for gallantry and majesty; of kings, queens, and the leaders of the art world. Yet even with the pursuit of your joys, you still take the time for others. You take the time to listen to another speak, even though you can’t understand. You sympathize and nay forget what they said. They treat you like shit as though you were that seemingly useless, even though you’ve proved yourself a million times over. And you’re willing to prove it a million times more simply to express your love. How can one, such as you, resist the abuse given and still find the time to love those who abuse you? Indeed you are the perfect lover, the perfect mate for the likes of women. I wonder how you, creature, have been so fluent in the language of love, even more fluent than we humans who are thought to be the only ones who feel such a powerful emotion. Is it your looks? Is it your shape? You hair? Your eyes? Snout? Teeth? Paws? Claws? I, for one, wouldn’t like to count you out. You are all but a delinquent. All but loving. All but human. Tell me, dear creature, what is your name? To what word did they assign you? To what name did they unfortunately misuse?”

It only spoke one word. The stone, spoke a single word. A single reason and answer as to why he was deaf to the sounds of others. The answer as to why he couldn’t hear her, feel her, she who sparked interest. A lone reason as to why he couldn’t hear them. The reason why he was one of them, and yet, one of the stone creatures as well.


The reason why love is a stone dog, and the reason why he was man.


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