Rocky swung open his front door and inhaled the warm smell of home. He removed his blue aviator goggles from atop his head and tossed it onto the coat rack. He loved this time – the time when the sun was kissing the horizon. The world outside was quieting, and he poured a snifter of brandy to help him play along.
He settled into his favorite soft chair and slowly munched on a fistful of nuts. The brandy felt warm in his belly, but a glance at the clock stopped any relaxation in its tracks. It was 7:04 pm. He side-eyed the telephone, almost certain it would ring at 7:05 like it had for the past two nights in a row.
Rocky thought of his friend – his best friend in all the world. He could not comprehend the turn their friendship was taking. He felt blind sighted. He felt like the universe was playing a huge practical joke on him. Only no one was laughing. If anything, he was scared.
His eyes darted toward the clock. It still said 7:04.
He grabbed another fistful of nuts and wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead.
He chewed aggressively.
He tapped his foot.
He shook his head saying to himself, “Not tonight. It’s not going to ring tonight. It’s all over. It was all just a bad dream.”
The ring made him jump. He spilled his brandy on his arm. He licked it off.
He tapped his foot.
He shook his head.
Before his left hand could stop it, his right hand picked up the phone and pressed it to his still shaking head.
Rocky: (eyes squeezed shut) Hello?
Rocky knew it was him. He knew it would be just like last night, and the night before. His eyes darted to the window… to the door… to the kitchen. The sound of his pulse in his ears was making him dizzy, but he couldn’t bring himself to hang up.
Rocky: (in a small voice) Hello.
Bullwinkle: (lowly) What are you wearing?
Every now and then I write a post to cater to misguided googlers. This fictional post is dedicated to the weirdo who was brought to my blog by googling the phrase “dirty moose”.