Fireworks, Some Ducks, and a Miniature Dragon

Just a little something I discovered called "Flash Fiction" for an online writing contest. And no, it's not supposed to make sense :)


I walk towards the house, and when I hear fireworks coming from within, I sigh heavily.
"Why, hello Carrie, come on in!" I'm about to drop my bag on the floor, but when I see the miniature dragon huffing puffs of smoke, I change my mind and place it, along with my shoes, on the end table.
"Roman is hungry" a small girls informs me, while strangling her pet dragon in an attempt to bestow some sort of affection upon him.
"Duck!" yells a boy, as a duck flies over my head and out the door. He tries to follow it, but I redirect his path to the kitchen with my hand atop his head, and close the door. Sorry, duck.
Despite the children's pleas, I don't let the dragon eat at the table. Even if it is convenient because I let the macaroni cool too long. The duck is quacking to be let back in, but I ignore him. The dragon is brooding under the table.
"Roman doesn't like macaroni," the girls tells me.
Then the fireworks go off again, and another duck appears in the fireplace. I grab the duck, and throw him outside with the other one, which doubles the quacking.
By the time I come back, the dragon has set fire to the macaroni, and I send the kids over to the wigwam while I put it out. They whine about being hungry, so I heat up some sort of leftovers from the refrigerator. They devour it, and promptly turn a deep shade of purple.
"Not again!" the boy screams, a sound masked only by fireworks and a third duck's incessant quacking. I send the boy to the wigwam for yelling, and the girl grabs my sleeve, dragging me over to the laundry room.
"Isn't it pretty?" she says, stroking the bubbles formed on the partially melted washing machine. I assure her it is, and usher her out and the troublesome dragon in. "Roman will make more pretty bubbles," she says. Judging by the flames emitting from the base of the door, I assume he is doing just that. We go to the wigwam, and find it full of pixies, one of which I step on. Sorry, Pixie.
I drag the boy up to his room, trying my best to avoid the swarms of pixies now free-flying about the house.
"Brother let the pixies out again. Brother's in trouble," the girl says, trailing behind. I put them both to bed, without singing a lullaby, as I hear more fireworks go off downstairs. I set to work bribing the pixies, who have already brutally slaughtered the newest duck, back into their cage.
When all the pixies have been bribed and look the same shade of purple as the children, I hear the unicorns in the driveway and the parents come in.
"Hope they weren't any trouble!" The mother says as she hands me my pay.