I’m outside on this brilliant autumn day, bluest of skies, leaves dappled burnished hues, but feeling melancholy.
A brown dog stares at me with its head cocked. “Adrian?” His muzzle moves as I hear the name.
Finally losing it, Sascha. You think this little brown dog is calling you Adrian.
“Yes, I’m talking to you.” The dog places its chin on my knee and stares up at me with liquid brown eyes. “Kasey sent me.”
The dog nods. “That’s why I’m here.”
“I’m not Adrian,” I say.
The dog says: “And I’m not Rocky. We’re even.”
end 10/11/2016 (2)
Big-Brown-Dog Carrot Ranch Flash fiction prompt