Chaos Inside A Pen

  Arnold dreamed that he was in a garden with Emma.   They run across the acres of hundreds of flower-like little children savoring the years of their innocence. The breeze smells of life and all its zest and sweetness as they fling themselves in a bed of technicolor; dipping their body into the pools of petals with laughter that made the birds in the birds in the sky appear and dance above them.   It was the kind of dream that everyone, even Arnold, would wish will never end until something just shatter than a breakable wall between dreams and reality.   And for Arnold, that was when one of the flowers suddenly flaunt a red eye right in front of him the moment she looks at Emma. It gave him the look that will eternally haunt even on his waking life.   “Arnold? Arnold?”   Pain shot right through the skull or Arnold upon opening his eye with his heart skipping some of its beat upon his awakening. The first to greet him is their ceiling and the voice of Emma whose right beside their bed

For someone who works in an unusual time where most of the people are already dreaming with drippings on their lips, Arnold is one of those who can easily sleep soundly. The friction between his skin and the bedsheet is a natural sedative for him. No need for him to gulp several teacups or even the dead old counting of sheep.   But tonight, surprisingly his usually deep sleep was intermittently roused for an unknown reason; as if there is this unseen hand that shakes him at random and he has no choice but to open his eyes that are revolting against him now for easily giving up the much-coveted slumber.   The simultaneous shift from sleeping to being wide awake finally reached a conclusion when Arnold decides to rise from his bed when he heard a sound coming from their living room.   It was the voice of someone talking in a hushed tone. Arnold would consider it nothing but a fractal of his forgotten dream in the first place and yet after a moment, the voice becomes all too familiar with

  “We lost another dog, Arnold. Now it's our Pomeranian. Do you know how much is that dog? 10K Arnold. Ten fucking thousand.”   Diego takes another puff from his Marlboro black cigarette while fighting some of his tears to burst from his sullen eyes. Arnold reluctantly pats the shoulder of his friend who lives nearby from their home; just a walking distance in the opposite street. Diego is one of those animal lovers who become content with canine and canine companions rather than those with the modern-day bipedal mammals; treating them like their own child or somehow like their lovers minus the sexual activity.   It was the third time he lost another one of his beloved pets. Just like his other dogs, his Pomeranian he named “Becka” was found lying in one of those darkened alleyways in their compound. It was obvious that there is someone behind it all along for all of his dogs died with a common denominator: a slit on their neck right in their carotid. Effectively draining their blo

  It was a loud crashing sound the deafen the whole walls of Duquesa’s residence that pique the ears once more of their neighbors who are itching that morning to spun another tale and rumors in one single fabrication just to passed time.   All pause for a while swiping their phones as they focus on the voice of Arnold Duquesa in complete rage as violent sound intermingles: this time it was the sound of shattering.   “I told you, don’t buy any more of these goddamned plants! But what did you do? Tell me what did you, Emma?” The neighbor expects a slapping sound after the fuming question just like what they saw in those tear-jerking telenovelas after the handsome hulk found out that his girlfriend is enjoying a steamy night with his supposedly loyal best friend.   However, Arnold and Emma’s heated argument doesn’t concern any third party. Or at least a human third party.   “M-Maria is getting lonely. She needs more friends, Arnold. I don’t want her to get lonely.” Emma's response was