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Losing Luke

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It was Tuesday. I was walking home in the sweltering heat of a May in Phoenix, Arizona. The phrase 'not a cloud in the sky' is so overused, but in this case it's true. You could see the heat waves on the ground, hear the hum of the bugs in the shade. And any spare cloud hoping to linger had been violently driven off. When I reached my house I found my mother, waiting outside the house, with a worried look etched in her flawless face. She took my hand and led me inside.
"Honey, we have to tell you something, and I don't think it will go over well." My mom bit her lip, and my dad picked at the skin on his fingers. I looked at them, then looked away and fingered the soft pleated purple velvet on the couch. I raised my eyebrows.
"Well what is it?" I had work to do and I was getting impatient.
"Luke died three hours ago." My dad looked down. My head snapped up.
"WHAT?" I bugged my eyes.
"Luke is dead." My mom echoed hollowly.
No. Not Luke. Anyone but Luke. I stood up off the couch, eyes stinging with tears, and ran upstairs into my small, yellow room. I collapsed on the bed in a state of shock. Then the tears came. This was no delicate crying either, these were nose-dripping, eye-pouring sobs. Luke was my life, the one I could lean on. I loved him with all my heart. I had loved him ever since I met his chocolate brown eyes and saw his smile. Only Luke would understand me, only Luke would sit by me for hours not saying a word, and it wouldn't feel awkward. Only Luke would kiss away my tears, and comfort me with his carefree attitude.

Luke is my dog

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