June 22, 2017

My father and I walked into the rundown house in the middle of the night. We had to burn down some vines at the front door to get into the living room. I saw a dog whimpering in the kitchen so we decided to help it out while we were here. After we freed the dog, we started to walk upstairs which was when we noticed that the dog kept following us.

For some unknown reason, the dog kept falling off the unrailed staircase. It got visibly more and more injured as it relentlessly climbed higher and higher on the steps behind us before dropping to the floor once again. We tried to usher the dog out the front door but it didn’t listen.

It was at this point that I realized I was missing the walking stick I had entered the house with and looked around for a replacement. I picked up a broken spoon from the ground.

We approached the open door of the bathroom until we saw a woman laying inside the bathtub. My dad went to look for a pulse. “Doctors agree that it makes no difference”, he commented.

“Well what do we do now?” I asked, looking at the pale body in the tub. “Go for the jugular” he said, and I promptly stabbed the sharp end of the spoon to a spot under the left collar bone.

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We were playing “high-gravity soccer” where one of the main rules of the game was that we had to be squatting the whole time. The sky was red as the sun was setting.