The Curse

Chapter 1

Rain is a terrible thing. It cries for hours and hours. It blocks out the sun and all its warmth.

Rain is a beautiful thing. It cleanses the earth. It washes away all the horrid things. It makes everything more beautiful.

That's what I think. I think that rain is the best thing that this world could provide.

For it keeps away unwanted persons.

My black fur is covered with dew and water droplets from the rain. Yet, I'm still warm. My fur coat is thick and encases me from all around; like a soft, warm blanket.

The ground is wet under my paws. My blue eyes penetrate all things and see everything. Nothing gets past my eyes.

I scratch my neck with my back leg.

Stupid collar, I think.

Yes, in fact, there was a collar on my neck. A big, thick one that I could only ever imagine being able to take it off and be free.

Free from him.

I'm no dog. I'm not a pet. I'm not a thing that you can control.

But of course I'm wrong and you're always right.

I am your disappointing dog, your worthless pet, your thing that you can control without a second thought.

I want out.

I want to be free.

I want to get away from him.

I want to be free.

I lift up my head to see the raining sky.

Rain is a beautiful, troubled thing.

I bring my head down and pad back towards the lone doghouse.

Mockery. That's what this is. Mockery.

A doghouse.

I'm not a dog.

I can feel the weighted metal chain drag behind me in the mud.

The chain is heavy and drags me down; a constant reminder that I am worthless, that I am nothing. Nothing, but a dog.

I am not a pet.

I was meant to be out in the woods. Out in the quiet, peaceful woods. Where no one would hurt me.

Where I would be free.

I can smell the others at the edge of the woods, watching me. They never come close enough for me to properly see them, but I know they are there. Occasionally I catch a glimpse of gray fur or an ear poking out of a thick bush.

They never seem to come close. And I am perfectly fine with that. It would be very unpleasant if they came in close quarters with me. And maybe they can sense that.

I hate them.

I envy them.

They are free. And I am not.

They get to run free within the woods without a single care in the world.

How I wish I were like them.

Running. Running forever. Running away. Away from him.

I step into the mocking doghouse and slump against the wall, looking out.

I look towards the house.

It used to be my house, but now it's not.

A house is where you find safety, comfort, and love.