Maendo spread a raincoat on the sponge-soft sand and yelled, “I’ll sleep under the twinkling stars.” Soon, his dog licked his onion-smelling feet. By now, the moon flashed a bright, confusing light into his eyes. The boozer listened to the beats of drumming frogs, while the clicking lizards played the guitars in the background.

“Sweet dreams!” an owl monkey called, swaying from a feather-light twig. This time, the eye-dazzling moon promised to wake up the hangover-diseased man. So, he pulled out his alcoholmeter tongue, and teased the insomniac moon. 

Afterwards, a coal-red star winked, before pulling a blanket of rainclouds over its head. Suddenly, it became pitch-dark; a thievery darkness that stole his dog. In this blackness, the chicken-hearted terrier buried its head inside its belly. In fact, the charcoal black dog avoided eye contact with the ghostly darkness. Immediately, Maendo hobbled around, looking for the sooty dog.

“Tukutuku,” he whispered, but his croaking voice spookily frightened the dog. The hair on his arm raised end-to-end and a cold wind rubbed his back, begging him to finish the green bottle of booze. He was looking for his stone-hard pillow when he tripped over the dog. “Why are you not barking?” he swore at the kiwi-black dog. 

The dog whined about the eclipsing darkness. It was time for the first crow, so he tiptoed and poked around the bird. “Why aren’t you crying the warning alarm?” Afterwards, he kicked the cackling birds. 

“What happened to the sun?” he asked, his voice bouncing into his eardrums with bursting silence. Like a weightlifter, he lifted his heavy head and picked up that the stars were fast asleep. Finally, he smelled the rain, and made out the flower-shaped clouds. So, he snapped his neck, and listened to the snorting dog. 

“The cock must have overslept,” he whined. Then, he copied a cock’s loud cry in order to magically quicken the night. The naked-neck roosters refused to answer his fake alarm. Instantly,  he thought of playing a prank on the 100-year-old  king, teasing him that the sun had abandoned his kingdom. However, the alcoholic couldn’t find the footpath to the king’s palace. 

There were two footpaths, but one goes to the graveyard. The drunkard took the cul-de-sac footpath, and passed out on the grave-shaped armchair. At that point, the snitching sun appeared, revealing to the funeral-goers that he was sitting on a gravestone. The black dog smiled, but shook its head left and right.