Nightmare On Easy Street | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Nightmare On Easy Street | Previous Challenge Entry
By Tameshia Williams
07/14/09
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“There is no such thing as Easy Street,” Dad said as I, in my infinite twenty one year old wisdom, explained my latest money making idea of delivering telephone directories for a few hours a week. I was in between sophomore and junior year in college and did not look forward to going back. With two months of summer break ahead, I decided that living the easy life was going to start now. Dad, a third generation preacher, believed in a hard day’s work for an honest wage. The whole ‘if a man doesn’t work, he doesn’t eat’ philosophy.
“Think of it as an early retirement plan,” I reasoned with my know it all attitude.
“The fruit of my loins,” he muttered as I headed off to implement my plan of making a lot of money in a little time.
Pulling a wagon full of directories, I strolled through the neighborhood attributing the quiet to everyone being at work. Suckers! All those people, Dad included, stuck in dreary offices while I enjoyed the beauty of the summer sun.
I came upon a fenced yard with a “Beware of Dog” sign attached to the gate. Judging by the white picket fence that stopped just above my waist, I figured the dog was very small or a family friendly type. Sensing no danger, I lifted the latch, swung the gate open, and made my way to the front door. I stopped short at the sight of the black Doberman Pinscher resting lazily in a corner of the porch. Rising on thick powerful legs, his angry snarl revealed stained needle sharp teeth. They looked as if they’d feasted on human flesh for years. His deep menacing growl sent my heartbeat into overdrive as a chill of terror coursed through my body. Simultaneously, we both ran -me toward the gate and him toward me. Fortunately, I reached my destination first. Quickly securing the latch, I exhaled a shaky breath grateful that we were not sharing the same side of the fence. My relief was short lived as a blur of black and brown leaped off the ground and hurdled over the fence. Not waiting for his landing, I broke into a desperate run with arms flailing in every direction. His incessant barking and my guttural screams created a crude melody as we continued our Wiley Cyote and Road Runner charade down the cracked sidewalk. Feeling the Doberman gaining on me, I yelled for sweet mercy knowing his pounce was inevitable. Miraculously, help came.
“Samson, come home now!” a loud voice commanded.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw the dog screech to a halt and rush home to his owner. Hunched over, my hands rested on my knees as I gasped for air. I hobbled to my car, sweat pouring down my sunburned back. Quickly, I drove away, abandoning my dream of little work for more pay.
At dinner that night, I recounted my day’s activities to my parents.
Reluctantly, I told Dad that I would get a real job at the local Wal-Mart the next day.
“I take it you didn’t find Easy Street,” he teased, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“There’s no such thing,” I admitted with a defeated sigh.
Thinking of the beast I’d escaped hours earlier, I bitterly stabbed a fork into my meatloaf and added, “Even if it did, I’m sure I'd hate the neighbors.”

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