Someone would be angry

Kenny was stuck between two volume levels. Five was too soft and let the birdsong through; six was deafening. He shouldn’t have, but he threw the old brown teapot at the speaker. ‎

What was all the noise? No, not the music that didn’t let the birdsong through, the noise of – oh, the teapot hitting the speaker and then the floor.

The volume level suddenly jumped to zero. The birds had stopped shouting and wailing, even the pretty-tune ones. The heavy curtains kept out too much light. Dusk indoors and the smell of hot tea and fresh urine.

The hands on the clock with no numbers stayed still, still telling the time before the ‎tea on the floor. Kenny knew someone would have to clean up all that mess. Someone would be angry.

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