His whimpers could be heard through the windows, walls, floors and ceilings. The saddest echo the neighbourhood has ever heard.
Were they dead, the car broke down, they couldn’t get home on time? Where are the owners of this dog whose crying whispers make his whiskers stand on end?
Nobody cares. Where are the authorities? Can the irresponsible be put behind bars for destroying fragile animal’s life?
I went there myself. The dog licked my face through the metal bars of the ground floor balcony. He gave me his paw. I found my truest friend.
About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
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More stories from Mescaline Brisset and writers in Fiction and other communities.
A Train of Thought
Rob’s phone started ringing relentlessly. Dismayed, didn’t deduce it. He left the house with a bottle of vodka in his jeans pocket, heading for the train station. Regina seemed to leave a hole in his ears and heart like a mad meteorite.
By Mescaline Brissetabout a year ago in Fiction
Cut-throat Competition
Nestled deep in the countryside lay two neighbouring villages. Lower Mossbrook was neat and clean. It had wonderful amenities, lots of cycle paths, a picturesque well on the green, and a very competitive Neighborhood Watch Subcommittee for the Village of The Year
By L.C. Schäfer4 days ago in Fiction
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