This was written by me for Madison Wood’s Flash Fiction weekly inspiration. Prompt:
Narrating by Elise
The alpaca stood in the snowy path; silent, patient–
“Goddamnit, Terrance. Again?”
The alpaca did not like to complain when a certain someone came home and was to tired from work to clean. Because the alpaca knew that–
“I can hear you narrating in the other room.”
The alpaca was not an intelligent creature. It liked to sit on its ass all day long. It preferred attention like —
“My mother was right, Terrance. You never listen. Always narrating. You’re a janitor for christsakes!”
At the end of the day the Alpaca continued to wait in the cold, knowing that without any imagination it would never accomplish anything. The narrator could not control every fucking detail.
The end, he whispered to the alpaca.
The end indeed.