Someone came into my cell once. She had gray hair and a smile like a continent. I smiled back at her.
"You don't want him," someone said. That Someone. I don't think he liked anything.
"Oh? Why not?"
Her voice reminded me of syrup, even though I'd never tasted it. I imagined it when she talked. I imagined the things they eat for breakfast, somewhere else. I imagined the Somewhere Else.
"He's crotchety," said Someone. His keys jangled. "He's old. Nipped at a young one, once."
"I see."
She didn't come back.
YOU ARE READING
All Light That Does Not Waver: A Dog's Story
Ficção GeralIt is our best friends that are fated to watch us flare, like suns, and fade.
