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The Tiny Terror

It would have been like any other day if the antique statue of a strutting boy hadn't jumped off of the mantel of our fireplace. Let me tell you what happened. I was off from school that day, making up all of the sleep I missed that week, on the couch in the living room. I heard a ping sound close by, but me, being the heavy sleeper I am, ignored the noise and continued sleeping soundly on the couch. I was awakened by a noise of a tap tap tap. I opened my eyes and looked to the door...no one there. My eyes scanned the room as the sound seemed inside the house. When the sound happened again my eyes were drawn to the mantle of our fireplace and our little brass statue. He tapped and tapped until my unbelieving eyes remained on him and he seemed to smile at me. The little statue had tiny doe eyes, a button up vest, and sported a fedora while standing on the mantle tapping his little feet. Seeing a tiny little statue wink at you is not the first thing you expect to see when you were just rudely awakened, but that's what I saw.
I couldn’t comprehend the fact that there was a living statue in front of me, and before I knew it, he sprung off of the mantel and took off on his little legs down the hallway and into my parent’s room. I pushed my legs as fast as I could to their room but I didn't get there fast enough and the door slammed shut. I was still in disbelief as I stood outside the door listening to the commotion going on inside that I didn’t even try to get in right away. When I opened the door I could see that the little boy had tore the room apart. It looked like a storm blew through the room. Pillows were torn to shreds. My mom's favorite lipstick colored the mirror on the wall. The lamps were knocked over or on the floor, rolling around in all of the chaos. The toilet was flooded with toilet paper and overflowing onto the floor, making its way out of the bathroom and into the bedroom where it soaked the new carpet. And worst of all, the curtains my dad brought back from Germany, the ones my mom just adored, were torn to shreds. My mom will not be happy I thought to myself and they will blame me for sure. On top of the bed sat the little boy, quietly laughing and patting his little brass knee. I threw myself on top of the bed, trying to make a grab at him. I was so close, but at the last second he bounced up and jumped through the window, shattering the window into tiny pieces that fell onto the floor.
I heard a loud screech from outside the windows. Cars collided into one another, swerving to avoid the tiny unknown object running through the street. Water from a fire hydrant was spraying like a geyser into the air, making a pond in the street. Dogs were barking and straining at their leashes as their owners tried to keep control of them. I figured looking out the window and watching wasn’t the most responsible thing to do so I decided it was best to chase the tiny statue down before it created any more havoc. As I could not drive, I had to follow the tiny terror everywhere on my bike, and I followed him out of the neighborhood, following the trail of barking dogs and knocked over trash cans, swerving out of the way of the debris. It wasn’t very hard to figure out where he had been. This is the one time I’m thankful my family doesn’t live in the city. There is no way I’m riding my bike down busy highways just for a tiny statue.
I didn’t get very far from my house. I followed the statue all the way to an elementary school just a couple blocks away. Pulling into the school’s driveway, I saw children running around in jerseys. They were in the middle of a very intense soccer game. Well, as intense as it gets in little leagues. One little guy was about to score a goal when he tripped over what looked to be his own two feet, but I knew it wasn’t. The little statue, only ten inches in height, joined the soccer game. He kicked the ball away from the little boy that fell down and continued to kick it down the field. I don’t think any parents realized a tiny statue took over their children's game because the moment he scored a goal from halfway across the field nobody moved. Parents started to fight over the goal shouting at the referee who was only a volunteer. Dads knocked over chairs while their wives argued amongst one another. Whose goal was it? When watching the confused parents argue I didn’t realize the tiny statue moved on somewhere else until I heard a little girl crying from the playground. Pushing my feet against the solid ground, my bike moved forward and towards the playground down the hill from the soccer field. A dad stood over his daughter on the swing struggling to get old pieces of gum out of his daughters knotted hair. The dad pulled and tugged on her hair as she cried--no success. More kids began to cry as the tiny statue went around the playground terrorizing every kid that came into its sight. One mom struggled to get sand out of her son’s eyes, another picked up her son who had tripped down the stairs to the slide, and another held her son after he got hit in the face with a orange kickball. With each cry, the laughing of the tiny statue got louder and more excited as it looked for more victims to terrorize. The tiny statue was too fast, for every one step I made he made ten more, always keeping distance between us. The angrier I got, I noticed, the more damage the tiny statue did. I decided to go home and not let the statue feed off of my anger.
Five minutes later, I opened the door to my house, anxiously wanting to sit down on the couch. Sinking deep into the cushions of the couch, I pulled a fluffy blanket over me ready to sleep and ignore the mess I may or may not be responsible for. Just as I closed my eyes I heard a noise by the coffee table. The tiny boy had unbeknownst to me followed me home. I kept my eyes closed though. I didn’t want him to jump away. I felt the cushion move by my arm but I kept my eyes closed. The boy tapped me on the nose and jumped away quickly, preparing for a fast getaway. I didn’t move. The tiny boy came and tapped my nose again, and jumped away. I let him do it again a couple times, but the second he thought I was fast asleep I caught him in my hand. He was as tense as a wooden stick, surprised by my sudden reflex. Quickly, I ran to the safe and threw him inside. I wanted proof that I wasn’t the one that tore up my parent’s bedroom.
When my parents did get home I needed them to see what happened and that it was not my fault. I grabbed both of them by the arm and lead them to the safe. My dad opened it up and when he did he found it completely empty except for the pieces of shredded money that laid at the bottom. As my dad looked back at me I knew I was in trouble.





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