︎    = collaboration
︎    = individual
︎    = academic
︎    = personal




That was unnecessary.

“Watch your fucking dog, Mam!”

She leaps across the narrow street, only one inch from scraping the Jeep.


My heart jumps.


“Fanpy, you gotta stop doing that every time.” He says in the distance. “Good boy.”

My heart settles. That lovely musky voice immediately calms me down. The corners of my mouth can’t help but lift up. I smile.

As the dirty red jeep passes, I see Fanpy speeding towards him.


That’s him. In his everyday mustard yellow shoes, straight blue jeans and a T-shirt. Today, it’s a classic Bowie T-shirt. The one with a red lightning mark across Bowie’s face. He adjusts his shirt. He changes his position, leaning away from the rustic brick veneer of a retired warehouse building. He squats down, spreads his arms wide open and signals Fanpy. Fanpy jumps into his embrace, slobbering all over his face. Rhett lifts up his head after the face scuffle. His hazel eyes gradually glisens towards me. And I am pulled towards him.

“Hi love, how are you?” He asks as his left arm slips under the arch of my lower back. He raises me up gently, slowly covering the sun shining from above. His warm breath brushes against mine. His heart beating against mine. His lips steadily presses against…


The smell instantly shoots from under my nostrils.  

I push him away.

This is the last straw.

With all the niceties, I just can’t handle the farting anymore.

It’s been three months of farting and I can’t take it anymore.

“We’re through.” I tell him.

“But I…” He begins.

I wave my hand at Fanpy. We walk away before he can continue.

I block him because I would miss him.

About half a year later, my friend invites me to her first solo exhibition named “In the Mud We Sit.” When we arrive before the glass entrance, Fanpy stops next to a pole to complete his daily duties. That’s when my eyes are caught by the sculpture. A copper sculpture of a guy, standing in mud, wearing a pair of mustard yellow boots. My heart sinks.

My legs start moving towards the sculpture. Tears run down from my eyes unceasingly.

As I stop three feet before the sculpture, my knees drop.

Fanpy runs towards me. I reach my arms towards him for an embrace.


That smell.

It turns out Fanpy farts when he sees mustard yellow.

Written by
Nancy Ai

< Short Stories