Monday 3 June 2013

250 Words: Not my life

The dog’s guts bleed into the gutter.  Every ounce of her life pours slowly and silently
away without a fight.  Clouds of breath soon fade away from her open mouth.

The man who fired the gun is satisfied, although his son will cry himself to sleep
tonight.  He pockets the pistol and leaves the scene, his thick boots sounding his
withdrawal on the wet pavement.

The carcass of the dog is left to wait, ultimately, for a death of its own.  But first it
must wait to see where this decomposition will take place.  Because the carcass’s
creator does not want the responsibility, it would seem.

The man who flees the canine murder walks quickly, wanting to think of something
else.  “The bitch and the unnatural pup had to go the way of us all sooner rather than
later,” he confirms.  But something in his mind…

The memory of the dog stirs and begs for burial.  “Surely it will hide what you want
hidden all the better,” it says.  “Please, I need to return to the earth.”

The man stops and turns; smiles as heavier rain starts to wash the blood away.  He
stoops and picks up the experiment his son had made an unfortunate attachment to.

The corpse, soon to be one with Cerberus, seems to breath a sigh of relief as
the man picks it up and begins the journey to its grave down by the water it once
enjoyed before this man started a chain of events.

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