Untitled Sparkledog Story
On Saturday nights Anon goes to the pub. The commitment is his way to pull himself out of home. "Go outside," people say. "Take a walk, see
some faces!" they say.
So why not. Saturday night is pub night. In his resignation that there wouldn't be a better use of his time, or maybe in the attempt to hang
onto a token of normalcy and pretend that this routine would favour his health (physical, mental, spiritual?) on Saturday nights he takes a long
walk to the pub and sits there in front of a beer. He'd never lasted more than one hour before leaving. At least he'd stopped feeling actively
nervous, sitting alone at a table, so his time immersed in the nightlife had matured into simple idle boredom.
This night wasn't much different, but different enough. He'd gone through half his pint and he was checking his phone. He reminded himself
not to do anything he did at home and enjoy his time there instead. It was a rule he'd set up for himself so that this routine would mean
something. It was easy to stay at home while being somewhere else. When he'd started the routine he'd carry a notepad and sketch whatever
interesting faces he'd see, but he'd quit doing that. Even the anthros had lost their novelty. They'd become other people like the rest. He'd still
take paper and pencil along, but they would just sit in a jacket pocket, unused. And worse, he'd get lost in thought sometimes, chewing on
past regrets.
The place was small enough not to feel like a vast empty hall, but there was room to breathe. He'd chosen this place over others because of
that. Cosy but not cramped. The music on the air was OK, and tonight he'd found that there was a live band playing. People had already taken
a few tables as the music filled the air.
When you believe in things
You don't understand
Then you suffer...
"Superstition ain't the way..." he sang along to himself. Live music had made him stay a bit longer that night. Couldn't say he was having the
time of his life, but there were a few more people and it was more lively than usual. Some of that must've rubbed off onto him. The first song
ended and he joined the sparse clapping among the buzz of amplifiers. The singer, a human like most of the patrons, gestured in his direction,
talking off the mic. "Does it sound all right over there?" Anon gave a thumbs up. "Yeah, everything's mixed just fine." The bassist, a thin, tall
guy who was now tweaking his pedals, looked over to him. "You're a musician, too?" The question surprised him. Was it because he said
"mixed" or what? "Eh. I used to play," he said with half a smile. "A while ago."
His eyes went back to the beer and the black beanie on the table in front of the couch he was sitting on. Finish it and leave? No, let's stay a
while. Maybe have another later.
"Hello! Are these seats free?" he turned to his left and saw a pastel-coloured anthro, a girl. There were two more behind her in a similarly
psychedelic coat, a couple, chatting animatedly like they always do. "Sparkledogs," he groaned internally. Even under the dim light the girl
who'd addressed him was a kaleidoscope of loud colours over a furry gradient ranging from a pale pink to purple. She had distinctively '80s
feathered blond hair dashed with electric teal. He was sure that the neon blue around her ears and cheeks was actively glowing. Was it make-
up? Bioluminescence? Her canine face had a sunny, broad smile that made her look like something out of a Disney feature. He felt like he'd
stared too long. Unbeknownst to her, seeing no protest, the other two had already taken their seats on the couch, but her question lingered.
"Oh, sure," said Anon with a hint of embarrassment. Something about this genus - for lack of a better word - made him nervous. He'd just not
pay attention to them while they did whatever sparkles do.
"So, what was the name of the band again?"
He turned again to her and saw that she had taken her seat on his side of the couch. Every movement of hers was an explosion of colour. "I'm,
uh. I didn't even know there was a band. I just come here on Saturdays." She nodded. "I think I've seen you a few times." The idea that
someone had noticed his presence at any point in time made his blood freeze. "We usually sit all the way over there!" she gestured. "But
tonight it's just my friend and her boyfriend and I'm just sort of tagging along," she said. Then she whispered, "I don't wanna be the third
wheel, you know?" He nodded. So that's why she was chatty. "Your boyfriend's not coming?" And he suddenly realized he was swamped in a
conversation with a sparkle. "Yeah... I don't have a boyfriend," she said. He quickly ran a few sentences through his head: "I'm surprised," or
"You'll find one soon" or... What the hell.
"I see," he went, regretting the choice of words anyway. "Are you a student, do you work?" She smiled. "I'm in university." He was surprised.
"And what are you studying?" Her vivid green eyes brightened, as if she'd been waiting for the question, "Foreign languages! I want to learn
ALL the languages, and travel the world!" He had doubts about her accomplishing that, but she did like conversation for sure. "I like the
optimism." He bit his tongue. His disillusioned self was already itching to come out. But he would just play along without giving her any of
that. "I really do," he added, perhaps more genuinely that he expected. Did he? "You have a lot of energy. It's inspiring." She giggled at the last
sentence. "Well, realistically speaking, I'm going to end up working in machine translation. Or I'll teach. We'll see about the rest. But I'm not
scratching space travel off the bucket list."
For the first time it was Anon who smiled. "I didn't make you the type with her feet on the ground. You look like a picture of the coral reef."
She laughed, bringing a hand to her snout. "It's a compliment!" he said, laughing as well. "But yeah, what with the look, I imagined you were
more about-" he trailed off. "Dreams?"
"Yeah, something like that." She wagged her head. "Well, I am a dreamer!" She smiled. "A little bit!" Something about her was infectious, andAnon hated admitting to that. "That's good," he said. "You're all right. I'm sure you'll pull it off." The next song started.
I must've died and gone to heaven
'Cause it was a quarter past eleven
On a Saturday in 1999
Right across from where I'm standing
On the dance floor she was landing
It was clear that she was from another time...
She got lost in the music for a minute while sipping on her drink. Her face was disarmingly happy even at rest. While at first he thought her
colours were a clashing mess, he was now beginning to enjoy her patterns, although he still didn't understand what exactly was hers and what
was artificial. At least a little something had to be artificial.
She was wearing a glittery blue top with a big orange star on it. The fluff made her look bigger than she was. She really looked like something
out of the 80s, except, well, she had a snoot. He'd seen a few anthros up close but looking at her made him realize how big their eyes could
get. She had these intense aquamarine eyes. "And what about you?" she said. Of course this question had to come. It was his turn to talk. He
didn't want to lie. "You wanna know about my dead end job?" he said. He couldn't think of a funny or witty twist to it. He detested his life. The
conversation was probably over and he was OK with it. "No, well, I mean. I want to know about you," she said. "Any dreams of your own?" That
was maybe even worse. "I, uh. Don't do much dreaming any more. I used to freelance as an artist. That's it."
"Artist! You mean drawing!" Anon nodded, "Yeah." She beamed with excitement. "That's so cool! Can you draw me?!" Of course she'd ask. He
chuckled. "I'm rusty, you know. Don't expect a Mona Lisa." She pouted. "Puh-lease?" He really was rusty. If he lied about not having where to
draw she'd probably ask to do it on a napkin. There was no worming his way out of this. "All right. But you can't just sit there looking at me. I
have to draw you candid," he said. "Okey-dokey!" She looked triumphant. "It's a deal."
Another song. Another few minutes where she got lost in the music.
She exchanged a few words with the couple before turning to him again.
He tore off the sketchbook page.
"Oh! You've done it?"

"You know, I really wished I had colour," he said. She took the page. She was smiling really wide. "I love it. So next time you'll do it with colour!"
Next time. OK. He smiled. "All right. I'll have to dust off the big palette." She giggled. The other two had gotten up. "I take it you're leaving?"
"Yeah, Jay and Cherry are moving to some other place, so I've asked them to drop me home."
"All right. I'll probably go home as well. So I take it we uh, see each other next Saturday? We could do something during the week?" Whoa
there, slow down. What the hell. Why was he even asking?
"All right!" She snatched his pencil and scribbled on his page in the girliest handwriting he'd ever seen. "I'm Anon, by the way." Next to the
phone number was "Dizzy". She had dotted the "i" with a little star.
"Dizzy?"
"It's Daisy, but it stuck that way. Call me!"
She walked out in a big bouncy wave of colourful fluff after the other two, who were already headed to the door.
"What the hell am I doing," he said to himself.