Ten Steps

Intro

This flash fiction story was inspired by my own writing challenge:

#AmpersandAfterDark /:\ Challenge 001 February 15, 2026

Your piece must include two dogs and one parrot. The parrot must be a menace.

AmpersandAfterDark is a writing prompt I host on Bluesky.

He’d been walking the neighborhood long enough to look like he belonged. Trash bins were out. Cars were gone. One porch light flickered like it had given up. That was usually enough.

One house had no camera over the garage and no dog bowl by the front door. He kept walking past it, hands in his pockets, then turned into the alley that ran behind the houses.

Fences lined both sides. Trash cans. Weeds pushing through cracked pavement. Third yard from the corner, same roofline he’d clocked from the street.

He tried the back gate. It opened. He stepped into the yard and let it swing shut behind him a little harder than he meant to, but he kept moving. The back door was ten steps away.

He jiggled the handle until it turned.

Inside was a narrow laundry room. A dryer hummed. A basket of clothes still warm on top. He shut the door behind him and moved down the short hallway. The kitchen opened to the left. At the end of the hall sat the living room.

Television on the wall. Soundbar underneath. Game console on a shelf. A laptop on the coffee table.

He set his bag down and started unplugging things.

“Browsing?” a voice asked.

He jerked upright and turned.

A cage stood near the window. Inside it, a parrot watched him.

“Window shopping?” it added.

He stared at it for a second.

“Shut up,” he muttered and went back to the cables.

The cage door clicked.

He ignored it until wings rushed past his shoulder and the bird landed on the curtain rod.

“Five-finger discount,” it said.

He swore and shoved the console into his bag.

The front door opened and a woman’s voice carried down the hall. “Good walk, boys?”

He stopped.

Two dogs rushed into the living room ahead of her, leashes dragging behind them. One low and compact, already growling. The other larger and steady, eyes fixed on him in an instant.

“Fetch!” the parrot screamed.

The smaller dog hit his ankle first. The larger one drove him into the wall. His bag split open and electronics scattered across the floor.

He tried to bolt for the hallway, but the dogs stayed with him, relentless and efficient. The woman stepped into the living room, took in the scene without screaming, and pulled out her phone.

“Stay,” she said sharply.

The dogs did not.

He stumbled back into the laundry room, slipped on the tile, and crashed into the washing machine. The parrot swooped low and smacked into his head.

“Bad exit,” it said.

He burst through the back door into the yard, bleeding now, the dogs right behind him. Sirens turned down the alley as he cleared the gate and staggered into the road.

He didn’t make it three steps before a patrol car’s headlights caught him full in the chest and the dogs drove him to the pavement.

The parrot settled on the cruiser’s hood.

“Book ’em,” it said.