'Rhino' by Natalie Reilly-Johnson

It’s amazing what you become inured to. When the rhino first knocked on my door, it was a sad and lost little thing. But it grew and grew, slowly taking over the house, squeezing me into a tiny space in the kitchen. It’s broken most of my possessions and hardly anyone comes over anymore. It’s no fun with a rhino stomping around.

It was only when Tess popped by the other day and said, “Why the hell are you living with this rhino?” that it hit me.

As an aside, Tess is hardly one to speak. Everyone knows she’s housing a boa constrictor and several sloths.

But anyway, it’s all well and good saying that, but how do you kick a rhino out?

“Play it at its own game,” was Tess’s answer.

“What? Throw my weight about and trash the place?” I said.

“No. Set off a stampede and charge it out.”

Well, I’ve been pondering on it for days. I’d need an army of people to drive that thing away. I don’t have many friends left since the rhino moved in, and I can’t afford to pay anyone.

Then it dawns on me. Something my Nan used to say. “If you drop a knife on the floor, it means a man’s coming to the house. A fork, a woman.”

I walk over to the cutlery drawer and in one swift motion, I pull the entire thing out and send it crashing to the ground.

Their footsteps rumble like thunder.