‘You shouldn't have shot the dog.’ That single thought reverberated inside my head, knocking from side to side, smashing at the sides of my skull until I had to put my hands to my temples in a futile attempt to stop the pain. The man sitting suivant to me took a swig of his whiskey, the glass bottle knocking against his yellowed and rotten teeth. His other hand held onto the steering wheel, maneuvering the car down the winding and deserted stretch of highway. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the passenger side window, willing my head to stop pounding. From the radio, the soft strains of Aretha Franklin chant "Ain't No Way" floated through the frigid air. The heater was broken, it had always been broken. Then again, who had ever needed a heater in Florida. I shivered as the cold darkness outside seemed to creep inside the car and emballage, wrap its arms around me. The warm sunshine of Florida was long gone. Tears welled in my eyes, but I struggled against letting them spill. He couldn't know how I felt.
As Aretha asked "how cold and cruel is a man?” I blinked away my tears. I tried to slow my breathing down and be as quiet as possible. My eyes focused in on the man's right hand. I couldn’t have cared less about his left hand; it was wrapped tightly around that bottle of Jack Daniels and I was sure it would let go until Jack was bone dry. It was what was casually gripped in his left hand, the same hand that was steering the car, which mattered to me. The gun was loaded, ou so he had said. Of course, I had believed he was telling the truth. I had believed him when he held it to my head at the gas station and told me to déplacer to the passenger seat. I had believed him when he got in and told me he would kill me if I didn't shut my dog up. My dog...loyal devoted Jesse, who now lay in the backseat of my car with a bullet in his head. Something caught in my throat; a mixture of sorrow and disgust. He'd lied to me, that bastard. He'd a dit he'd kill ME if I didn't shut Jesse up. He'd lied. He'd lied and shot Jesse instead. I trembled again, but not from the cold. The tears trickling down my face were no longer tears of fear.
The car came to a stop. I looked vers l'avant, vers l’avant and watched as a train rumbled past in front of us. The train engineer had no idea, no idea that for the past twelve hours I had been a prisoner in my own car, held captive par some crazed and drunken madman. It was at that moment, as I watched the locomotive rumble past, that something snapped. Maybe it was being so close to people who could help, but I was longer in fear of this cold, cruel man who sat suivant too me. I reached over and grabbed the nearly empty whiskey bottle out of the man's hands. His reflexes were slow, impaired par the alcohol rushing through his blood. He had barely registered the sound of broken glass before blood began pouring down his face from the gash in his head. The gun slipped from his fingers onto the floor. He grabbed his head and looked over at me, disbelief and shock pooling up inside his eyes. I reached over, opened his door and with one fluid movement, pushed him outside onto the La Reine des Neiges ground. With Aretha Franklin crooning about how "it ain't no way," I pulled myself into the driver's seat, being careful to avoid the gun that lay on the floor. I put the car in reverse and hit the gas. The car shot backwards and the lone figure of a man laying on the ground appeared in front of me, illuminated par the car's headlights. My foot pressed down on the brake, almost of its own accord. I glanced in the backseat at the unmoving figure of my sweet and beloved dog, who had never hurt anyone and who had only been barking to try and protect me. My hand mechanically put the car in drive. The train rumbled off into the distance and I was now all alone. Alone with him. I hit the gas pedal. As I felt the car connect with his body, only one thought appeared in my head. ‘You shouldn't have shot the dog.’
As Aretha asked "how cold and cruel is a man?” I blinked away my tears. I tried to slow my breathing down and be as quiet as possible. My eyes focused in on the man's right hand. I couldn’t have cared less about his left hand; it was wrapped tightly around that bottle of Jack Daniels and I was sure it would let go until Jack was bone dry. It was what was casually gripped in his left hand, the same hand that was steering the car, which mattered to me. The gun was loaded, ou so he had said. Of course, I had believed he was telling the truth. I had believed him when he held it to my head at the gas station and told me to déplacer to the passenger seat. I had believed him when he got in and told me he would kill me if I didn't shut my dog up. My dog...loyal devoted Jesse, who now lay in the backseat of my car with a bullet in his head. Something caught in my throat; a mixture of sorrow and disgust. He'd lied to me, that bastard. He'd a dit he'd kill ME if I didn't shut Jesse up. He'd lied. He'd lied and shot Jesse instead. I trembled again, but not from the cold. The tears trickling down my face were no longer tears of fear.
The car came to a stop. I looked vers l'avant, vers l’avant and watched as a train rumbled past in front of us. The train engineer had no idea, no idea that for the past twelve hours I had been a prisoner in my own car, held captive par some crazed and drunken madman. It was at that moment, as I watched the locomotive rumble past, that something snapped. Maybe it was being so close to people who could help, but I was longer in fear of this cold, cruel man who sat suivant too me. I reached over and grabbed the nearly empty whiskey bottle out of the man's hands. His reflexes were slow, impaired par the alcohol rushing through his blood. He had barely registered the sound of broken glass before blood began pouring down his face from the gash in his head. The gun slipped from his fingers onto the floor. He grabbed his head and looked over at me, disbelief and shock pooling up inside his eyes. I reached over, opened his door and with one fluid movement, pushed him outside onto the La Reine des Neiges ground. With Aretha Franklin crooning about how "it ain't no way," I pulled myself into the driver's seat, being careful to avoid the gun that lay on the floor. I put the car in reverse and hit the gas. The car shot backwards and the lone figure of a man laying on the ground appeared in front of me, illuminated par the car's headlights. My foot pressed down on the brake, almost of its own accord. I glanced in the backseat at the unmoving figure of my sweet and beloved dog, who had never hurt anyone and who had only been barking to try and protect me. My hand mechanically put the car in drive. The train rumbled off into the distance and I was now all alone. Alone with him. I hit the gas pedal. As I felt the car connect with his body, only one thought appeared in my head. ‘You shouldn't have shot the dog.’
toi seek for spark of hope.
Your life held by
darkness thoughts,
anchor is
some place else.
Bad luck follows toi
like a hook,
won't let toi go,
won't leave toi alone.
toi smile today,
and cry whole eternity,
like that's your fate,
disturbing thoughts
to lie inside of you,
to take away everything
that toi hope for.
Devil is calling your name,
leaves toi not,
toi don't see the Angel on
your shoulder,
trying to give toi a strength.
toi long for life
that toi don't know of,
toi seek for peace,
trying to get away
from misty forest
that stains your heart
into black.
January 16, 1815
Journal,
We have gotten fortunate, Journal! Nastea has found coats in the broken down train. She sits par Sasha now, covering her in them. And she took one for herself as well. I can see color returning to Sasha’s cheeks. Nastea coughs harshly, shivering nervously. Her toes are turning blue, and one has already fallen off. We slept in the train last night, getting as much warmth as we could. We have to start to déplacer tomorrow, find shelter. The berries Nastea fed Sasha seem to have made Sasha a lot sicker than she was before. She’s coughing up blood now. The snow around her is stained with red and pink. I attempted to make a feu earlier, and let me tell toi journal, it didn’t work out. It’s much to cold to start flames. For every time the feu ignites, it extinguishes, the harsh winds blowing it out. I’m losing my teeth, journal. Nastea can’t talk anymore, and her and Sasha’s hair is mostly gone. Journal, what’s happening to us?
Bye Journal,
Nadia
Journal,
We have gotten fortunate, Journal! Nastea has found coats in the broken down train. She sits par Sasha now, covering her in them. And she took one for herself as well. I can see color returning to Sasha’s cheeks. Nastea coughs harshly, shivering nervously. Her toes are turning blue, and one has already fallen off. We slept in the train last night, getting as much warmth as we could. We have to start to déplacer tomorrow, find shelter. The berries Nastea fed Sasha seem to have made Sasha a lot sicker than she was before. She’s coughing up blood now. The snow around her is stained with red and pink. I attempted to make a feu earlier, and let me tell toi journal, it didn’t work out. It’s much to cold to start flames. For every time the feu ignites, it extinguishes, the harsh winds blowing it out. I’m losing my teeth, journal. Nastea can’t talk anymore, and her and Sasha’s hair is mostly gone. Journal, what’s happening to us?
Bye Journal,
Nadia
The pookie fell from a arbre
upon hitting the ground he farted
scared at his own flatulence he tried climbing up the tree. But for every branch he grabbed he tooted. and for every twig he broke, he farted.
farting all the way up, pookie climed that tree. He had to make it to the haut, retour au début toi see, cause that where pookie's make pee. Relief was almost in reach for pookie. till a stiring occurred within.. a rumbling sensation, and pookie knew.. with a tear, that he couldn't hold it in.
Till this jour those who were near a dit it sounded like a cow mooing. The momentum of his farts became like a rocket and shot pookie up and out that tree! Up in to the sky..till pookie could not be seen.
moral of story? dont eat beans. O_o
suivant chapter "The pookie Returns"