Demon Dog

Marcy looked at the dog and burst into tears. Her littlest nightmare, her spastic companion, her greatest annoyance, lie there on the floor before her, its lungs now finally entirely dysfunctional. Its wretched, compact face protruded into a final grimace, teeth gleamingly bared, and its paws curled into four tight fists as it lay sideways on the ground before her.

She imagined this little fiend floating upward, drifting away into an everlasting dwelling far away from herself and, at last, distant from the existence that she loathed sharing with such a creature.

Nonetheless, she couldn’t help noticing its helpless expression as it lay lifeless. He was her last living relative’s best-loved pet, and she had taken care of the animal for the past three years, ever since her uncle had become too weak to care for it. She bore the torture for his sake only, and now she gazed back fondly upon her memories with her favorite uncle, who was now too unstable to hold an intelligent conversation with any of his nurses, much less his own niece. Her constant reminder of him was dead now. Jerked back to the present moment by an intense pain, Marcy shed one last tear for her unwelcomed friend’s brutal death and, with one eye cracked gingerly, glanced down at the deep gash on her femur.

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