January 11, 2009
A loud rumble of thunder erupted from the sky. A snap. Then a crash.

“It’s just a tree falling,” he said.
“But I’m scared, “I replied.
“Don’t be. It’s okay.”


I was seven. Autumn. I was walking in the woods one day, during a thunderstorm. I took a shortcut home when a fallen tree limb made a sort of pathway for me to walk through. I stepped on top of the new log and balanced my way across to the end. When I alighted, my foot stepped on top of something soft. A dead, bloodied puppy, whose backside was crushed underneath the tree.
I ran all the way home.
The following week I took another walk through the woods and spotted the same fallen tree limb, some wood splits still attached to its stump. The puppy was nothing more than a small carrion. I picked up a stick and poked at the remains of her once furry white body. Nothing. No response. I was a fool for going back.

I walked home this time.


“Dad, should we have a funeral?”
“Let the earth take care of her. She’ll be okay.”

I closed my eyes. I am seven again. Another rumble of thunder, another tree falls.

“Relax,” he tells me now.

I cling on to my new puppy.

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gloriasinferno37 said...
Nov. 30, 2010 at 10:04 am
I love the imagry of the story. Although I enjoy the simplicty of this story, you may want to add some detail to what happend durring the storm so the read doesnt get lost. But over all a great story!
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