2:10 a.m.


He is on the move.

The quiet steps pull me out of slumber.

I peek through the half-open eye. His defensive stature at the doorway, looking out.

I sit up. His vigilance alerting my subconscious.

What is it? Something out there?

We listen to the stillness and watch the darkness for a while.

The outline of his relaxed figure turns, and the confident tapping on the floor moves closer.

He climbs onto the bed, and the familiar scent settles next to me.

“Good watchdog.”

Nothing will harm me. Nothing. Not even a nightmare.



For Friday Fictioneers – 14 September 2018.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

JHC Clock


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