Theo

A Story by anonanon

A short short story about a boy and his dog, and writing.

Just start. Just go ahead and start. That's all he was trying to tell me with those large eyes. Nothing else matters right now, nothing but that empty work sheet. Scribble on it. Do something with it. Hell I don't even care if you pour sweat over it--at least you'd be doing more than just sit there. That's my job, he's telling me. I'm the one who gets to sit here beside you and watch you work. You're the one who is supposed to work. His eyes shifted away from mine and back toward the piece of paper sitting on my desk. Either he's telling me all that, or he's wondering if he can digest whatever it is I’m sitting in front of. His mouth dropped open and his tongue lolled out, smiling.

We communicated telepathically, Theo and I. Although, if he could speak, our conversations would probably remain the same. What should we eat? Do you think I could make that jump? Why did I get in trouble for what you did? I guess I'd ask him all the obvious questions though, such as why do you walk in multiple circles before lying down, or what is it you're really dreaming of when your whole body starts twitching while you sleep. I suppose I'd ask Theo what it is he's saying when he starts barking wildly at another dog, passing by our house. Justin always says that dogs are basically shouting: "Hey! Hey! F**k you! F**k you! F**k you!" Dogs are incredibly territorial, Justin says, but I like to think Theo is different. That Theo is really just excited to see another creature like himself. Someone who speaks his own language, like when a foreigner in a new country stumbles upon a fellow Homelandian. "Hey! Hey! These creatures feed me on a daily basis! And all I have to do is love them and be friends with them! You have to get some humans too!"

Theo lied down and rested his large head on his forelimbs, still looking up at me and telling me that I'll have to do it eventually. I turned my attention toward the blank piece of ruled paper and a freshly sharpened pencil. What do I know about writing stories, I thought. I'm just a kid, no one listens to what I say. And after a good three minutes of staring into the faded blue lines on the page, I flung my arms out on my desk and placed my head down. I sighed, and shortly thereafter, Theo did too.