In this one-page story, I practice writing a character I am using in one of my NH Stories (which I am currently in the process of revising) called “Class Snake.” It’s fun to put him in a different situation and see how he acts.
As Edwin rounded the corner, taking a shortcut from Mr. Mike’s convenience store with a bag of fireballs in his hand and his lips stained red, a brown dog with a white muzzle and grey eyes shot out from under a porch and charged at him, snapping and barking. Edwin fell backwards, his fireballs rolling into the street. The property was lined with a chain link fence, high enough to keep the dog in, but the dog snarled and bared its worn-down and broken teeth.
Edwin had never owned a dog. When he’d visit his friend Henry, his mother wouldn’t even let him enter the house until their rottweiler, Johnny Rotten, was tied in back. He picked himself up, brushed himself off, and started recollecting all of the spilled fireballs.
“Stupid dog!” he shouted. “Bad dog!”
The dog kept on barking. Up close, despite its terrible shouts, Edwin could see how feeble and old the dog was. In the small yard, he could see the worn down track the dog had dug into the grass from years of running up and down the length of the fence.
Edwin kicked the fence, strengthening his nerve.
“Shut up!” he shouted.
The dog barked louder.
“Shut up!” he shouted again, this time kicking the fence back into the face of the dog.
The dog was stunned only for a moment, then resumed its noisy assault.
Edwin bent low and gathered a handful of gravel and tiny stones into his fist. “Shut up,” he said, this time calmly, and waited to see if the dog would obey. The dog continued to bark and bare its yellowed teeth and black gums.
Finally, Edwin whipped the dirt and gravel grape shot at the old, blind mutt, sending it yelping back under the lean-to by the porch. The dog was silent. Edwin popped a fresh fireball into his mouth and walked slowly down the fence, smirking at the huddled and hiding hound.