Random and inconsistent snippets from an unstructured mind. My truth may not be your truth. A fact is a fact only by standing on it.
It can't fall down, there is nothing holding it up...
Except some sort of capitalist exploitation. The writer is a 3rd generation Indigenous Australian. Not, i might add, Aboriginal - two different concepts.
Abbey was feeling morose. Her master had gone out in the snow to purchase refills of his favourite herbal medicine from the off-licence, leaving her in a bare room and no fire lit. When he came back, he offered various ingenious excuses for being six hours late, which are beyond the scope of this dog-centred narrative. However, he seemed to bump against the walls a bit, and nearly tripped over her.
She looked at him with big sad eyes. How easily she was able to touch his conscience, just with a look! She saw a tear run down his grizzled cheek, before he had time to wipe it off on his cuff.
He realized that as well as being late, as well as not taking her with him on the outing, he had omitted to bring a tin of dog food when he returned. This was unbearable: he was in urgent need of being forgiven. He opened one of his bottles, poured some of the healing fluid into Abbey's dish.
Now he’s sitting on the one piece of furniture that this hovel still possesses. The others have been chopped up for firewood. He's got some Alka-Seltzer ready to mix with water into Abbey’s dish when she wakes.
(This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real mammals, living or otherwise, is hotly denied.)
1 comment:
Abbey was feeling morose. Her master had gone out in the snow to purchase refills of his favourite herbal medicine from the off-licence, leaving her in a bare room and no fire lit. When he came back, he offered various ingenious excuses for being six hours late, which are beyond the scope of this dog-centred narrative. However, he seemed to bump against the walls a bit, and nearly tripped over her.
She looked at him with big sad eyes. How easily she was able to touch his conscience, just with a look! She saw a tear run down his grizzled cheek, before he had time to wipe it off on his cuff.
He realized that as well as being late, as well as not taking her with him on the outing, he had omitted to bring a tin of dog food when he returned. This was unbearable: he was in urgent need of being forgiven. He opened one of his bottles, poured some of the healing fluid into Abbey's dish.
Now he’s sitting on the one piece of furniture that this hovel still possesses. The others have been chopped up for firewood. He's got some Alka-Seltzer ready to mix with water into Abbey’s dish when she wakes.
(This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real mammals, living or otherwise, is hotly denied.)
Post a Comment