Domestic by Nick Mwaluko

Jane—a Thai woman who cleans and cooks for Tom—woke up drunk, cursing, decided Time for Barbeque so she put the puppy on the grill. The roommate upstairs cracked open his window, “What’s that awful smell?!” Jane—angry, laughing—“Burnt puppy.” “Are you insane, Jane?!” the roommate yells. Insane. Jane.

She heads upstairs. The roommate hides in the bathroom, door locked. Jane has a history of stabbing doors. Jane knocks, Jane pounds, Jane exits. The roommate calls the cops who never show up, not to our neighborhood. No 911. The puppy is sizzling. The roommate is screaming. The puppy is screaming. How come Jane is laughing? She stabbed the roommate’s car door—destroyed, damaged—HAHAHA—abused—HAHAHA—like Jane

The future:

The puppy has surgery. The puppy has three legs. The puppy has no tail. The puppy is blind. The puppy is brown, crisp brown. The puppy is named “Lucky”. The roommate is dating the cop who has Jane locked away. And nobody eats meat.

Life’s a revolving door, see?

The end.

Nick Mwaluko was born in Dar-es-Salaam, Tanzania but raised mostly in neighboring Kenya. Homelessness, shelter life, intense spiritual dislocation allowed Nick to renew efforts at writing. Nick hates pronouns.