Saturday Mornings: 'Short Stories'

By Vanessa Sgroi © 2008

It was early yet.  Darkness still pressed hard against the windows, though dawn was just beginning to peek over the horizon in the East.  The house lay silent in the pre-dawn black. 

The little boy in the bed stirred and rolled over.  Seconds later, he tossed back the jumble of covers and hopped out of bed. 

“Sport?  Sport, c’mon boy,” Danny Ryan called softly around a yawn. 

The dog lifted his head and blinked sleepily at Danny, not quite ready to start the day.  With a grunt, the Labrador/beagle mixed breed stood and stretched long and hard.  Sport jumped off the bed and joined Danny at the bedroom door. 

Forgoing the robe and slippers his mother usually insisted upon, Danny slipped into the hallway in his Spiderman pajamas. 

“Now remember, Sport,” the young boy whispered, “we hafta be quiet.”  Boy and dog padded softly down the steps. 

Heading first to the back door, Danny let Sport outside into the cool morning air.  Leaving the dog to run in the fenced-in yard, he hurried to use the bathroom himself. 

After letting the dog back in the house, Danny grabbed a chair and pushed it up against the kitchen counter.  Easily climbing up, he opened the cupboard. 

“Danny!  What are you doing?”  The small voice stopped him cold in mid-stretch.  Turning his head, he spied his older sister, Clairey, in the doorway.  Her long hair blonde hair was tousled, and her bare toes peeked out from beneath her flowered nightgown. 

“I’m getting cereal.” 

“Good thing Mommy didn’t catch you.  She’d be mad!” 

“Why?  You do it all the time.” 

“Yeah, but I’m older than you.” 

Danny stuck his tongue out at her before saying, “Only by a year.”  Then he again reached for the box of Choco Crunchies.  “Get some bowls, Clairey.” 

After grabbing the cereal, Danny scampered down.  Opening the box, he snuck a few pieces to Sport who waited eagerly, tail wagging.  While the 8-year-old poured heaping mounds of cereal into each bowl, Clairey retrieved the milk from the refrigerator and showered some over the miniature chocolate-flavored spheres. 

Leaving the milk out on the table, Clairey grabbed her bowl and hurried away.  “C’mon, Danny, we’re gonna miss it.” 

Much more slowly, the boy followed, being extra careful not to spill any milk.  Sport trailed on his heels.  Reaching the living room, he proudly placed his bowl on the coffee table. 

Danny dropped down on his rear end, his feet tucked beneath him.  He watched in anticipation as Clairey turned on the television and switched channels.  They were just in time; their favorite cartoon was just starting. 

With a sigh of contentment, Danny dunked his spoon in his bowl and began to eat. 

The End...

 

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