"They put him to sleep... and he never woke up."
Quiet, sorrowful. Looking to the dust beneath his boot heel.
Child, six, eight. Frustrated with the answer. Unclear: evasive. Another adult secret.
"You mean he died? Did he die? Is he dead?"
My grandfather's beloved dog.
My ruthlessness began early.
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© 2002-2012 Mark Phillips.
All rights reserved.
This writing is fiction. Please don't confuse it with reality.