Monday, November 14, 2011

one hundred word story #40: Just a dog

He's just a dog, you say, as you take him off the leash. We watch that tail raised high like a flag as he disappears into tall grass. He’s just a dog, but he’s all I got. You have me, I say. You are quiet. The grasses flinch. All we can see is the occasional brown flare that is his tail. That’s the thing, you say. The dog has disappeared. You shout yourself hoarse. I shout too. You’re not shouting loud enough, you say. I shout louder. The dog trots back and still you shout. I disappear into tall grass.

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