Nature is waging a clandestine war. The wolf-dog staggers stiffly to her feet, tap-taps a path across the darkened kitchen to the back door, pauses to sniff the chill night air.
She raises a white muzzle to the moon. Howls.
Cut it out, Luna!
She turns awkwardly, retreating to civilization.
Alison Cooper is a UK artist, residing in Los Angeles. She loves the challenge of the culling words to get to the core. Her first short story was recently published in Everyday Fiction.
“Alright, Jensen, time to go. Let’s get in.”
The obedient dog looked up at her teary-eyed owner, then hobbled up into the car as well as she could. Her golden mane breezed in the passenger window wind the whole trip there.
“Be gentle,” she begged.
“We will,” said the veterinarian.
Rob is a part time student at SUNY Cortland. Though unsure of what his next step is, he is dedicated to becoming a better writer.
She looks at me with big brown eyes, alive with anticipation for things to come. Her chestnut hair is a perfect complement to those eyes.
Unabashed, she is totally nude, standing anxiously by the door.
When my hand touches the leash, her tail begins to wag. Time for a walk!
Jim Purdy is a retired engineering manager who lives in Oregon and spends his day with his faithful dog (named Maybee) who never gives him disparagement. She wags her tail as he reads her whatever he has just written.
A pushchair on its side; something’s not right.
A car hastily parked, askew.
An unfamiliar brown (everybody knows blood is red) sprawling stain on the road leads to a lady sitting hunched on the pavement, cradling.
I later discovered it was a dog, fatally wounded.
Relief, yet someone will mourn.
Steve Gardiner is an accountant living in the UK.
Chewy sniffed his master’s leg before biting it. Who could blame him? He was a hungry dog. His master beat him more often than he fed him.
His master could not beat Chewy now for biting him. All he could do was keep lying on the floor, feeding his dog.
Chris Griglack was born and raised in Massachusetts where he has lived for 23 years. He graduated from the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth in 2012 with a degree in Writing, Rhetoric, and Communications.
The man stood on his lawn, scarf snug, hat pulled low. He watched children making snow angels, giggling.
Then, a scream.
The attacker tore into the man’s arm. He severed his head, mauled his face.
The assault lasted only seconds, but the memory remains. The day our dog ate Frosty.
Paul Amelchenko is a freelance creative director/copywriter and a lecturer at the University of Miami. He teaches courses in Copywriting for Digital & Traditional Media, Advertising Concept & Copywriting and Portfolio Development. www.paulamelchenko.com
I lost my favorite mitten this morning.
My dog tried to eat it and choked on it. He couldn’t see very well from all the smoke in the air. My parents wouldn’t have either, but they slept through it.
Now I’m outside, and it’s really cold. I miss my mitten.
Kieran Ivison is a student attending Southeast Missouri State University. He is currently pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in Music Performance and a minor in Mass Communication. He also enjoys writing and randomly browsing the internet.
Living amongst death and decay was simply part of being a necromancer, but Khin-Topekh hadn’t expected so much loneliness.
Employing his best problem-solving skills, the necromancer went to the pet store and picked out a puppy.
Little Fidus made him very happy, until she started stealing bones from his corpses.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Invariel.
Jurgen shook free of the dog’s steel-trap grip and tossed it over the cliff. For a moment, he felt guilty; then he cleansed the useless emotions from his mind.
They were coming, with guns and flashlights.
If the animal shelter would not give him a pet, he would take one.
I know this guy who saves puppies. He hears the world’s gonna end. He doesn’t believe it, he’s not religious, but he wants it to be true. When it doesn’t happen, he’s depressed.
So was I. I was depressed because the guy who saves puppies wants the world to end.
Walter Campbell lives and works in Philadelphia, went to school in New England, and grew up in LA, but he’ll write pretty much anywhere. Recently, his work has been published in Jersey Devil, Six Sentences, Dogzplot, MicroHorror, Toasted Cheese, and Glossolalia.