Mourning

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Mourning (99 words)

So much pain.

I became mean, tired, despondent. I pushed. I shoved. Told everyone to leave.

They did.

Through day and night, I existed, feet scuffling as I sleepwalked through life, uncomprehending light or dark or winter or spring until I blinked awake, teary, pillow sodden, a scratching on the back-door reverberating through the house.

I willed the sound away. I had power: I willed people away. I could will this away. Yet, it continued.

Opening the door, I saw your brown eyes gazing from a dog’s face, a dog with your joie de vivre, who invited himself in.

end

Sascha Darlington

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14 replies »

  1. Realistic, but a sad place for the protagonist, Sascha. And perhaps not so flattering for whoever had dog eyes. I like the attempt at willing sounds away. I do that myself at night — “Sounds like a pterodactyl on the roof , but it’s nothing, just my imagination.”

  2. I’m confused. I thought it was a dog not a person with dog eyes. Hmmm. I assumed that based on the scratching at the door. People don’t do that (do they?). I think I’ll let it be a dog. That’s who I’d let in. 🙂

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