Friday, April 13, 2018
She's and older woman now, with medical problems of her own, but still she holds on to him, she still takes him with her everywhere sure goes, and they walk slowly together.
When they told me of his condition, I looked at him, I laid down next to him, I held him, and Henriette held his leash awkwardly.
"We need to get out side," I told her, and picked him up gingerly.
"What are you doing? You're causing him pain. Put him down!" she said to me.
"He's always in pain. We need to go outside, right now," I commanded, and she led me out the quickest way.
I knelt in the grass. "You need to hold him."
"I can't. My hands..."
"I will take the weight, but you need to hold him, like you did, all those years ago when you first adopted him."
She shifted into position, so that he was between us, she was on one side, and I on the other. I could feel a great tension seep out of him.
"Now tell him you're ready."
"Not me, tell him. Tell him like you've always told him things, but tell him."
She pulled us down to the grass, and laid beside him, not too much longer herself, and leaned into him. She hugged him, and though I heard the words, I will not share them, because they don't matter, only the meaning behind them.
He let out a great sigh, and leaned against her as gently as she leaned against him, and closed his eyes.
We laid there a long time, even after his body grew cold.
"He was ready. He'd been ready for many years. But he held on, because you weren't ready. He'd been living in all that pain, but also in all that love, for you. All you had to do was tell him you were ready."
"Is he happy?"
"Before the end, yes, he was happy. He got to hold you again, remember the puppy he once was, and he went in his sleep dreaming of running. Running through the grass and the trees, chasing the birds, free of pain. And now, he's free."
She had tears in her eyes, and so did I. Henrietta say up slowly, wiping her face, and leaned over him, still between us, still against us, and hugged me. "Thank you."
The part of Henrietta was played by Linda Hunt.
Sunday, March 4, 2018
I'm wielding the M392 and breaking into a warehouse. There's a small hallway and office in the north west corner, and that's where I come in, though it's got a steely eyed woman who won't take yes for an answer and a handful of civilians. I barrel through without asking questions and into the warehouse.
East of the office area but in the warehouse proper is some grocery-style aisles. Among them are a few more civilians, either shopping or sorting product, I can't tell. South of all this is the warehouse proper, and all the forklift operators and spotters are wearing Kevlar and burdened down with arms.
I crouch against the north end of a shelving unit and start taking headshots. The men in the warehouse react, pulling guns and trying to get a bead on me; the civilians just try to get out of the way, crowding together as far from me along the north wall as they can get.
Except for one woman. She appears to be in her mid to late 20s, and she's crouched in an aisle behind me, watching me.
I've taken out the immediate threat, and only a few guys remain, coming in cautiously from the southern depths of the warehouse stacks, but my gun is running low.
I pull out my Magnum, clip it to the bottom of my rifle, and make do with the rifle sight guiding my shots. The pistol doesn't do much at this range, and I have to adjust my aim because the sight is set too high. I start walking east along the aisles, and the young woman lets me get close to her. She seems rather aroused by my actions. I take advantage by pulling her against me, holding my pistol now separated from the rifle against her head, and backing out of the building the way I came. No one seems interested in taking a chance injuring her, so they let me back out without resistance.
Except the hard woman in the office area. She refuses to let me pass even at the risk of the hostage, but the young woman passes me a smoke bomb. I engage it, along with one I'm carrying, filling the office area heavily. The young woman gives me a kiss and slips out of my grasp, takes my hand and pulls me from the building.
But not before she takes the steely eyed woman, forces her to bend over a desk, lifts her skirt, and gets me to fuck her.
And I woke up with Ed Sheeran's "Perfect" playing in my head.
Friday, June 12, 2015
There were mail sorting machines in the TV room, though they were not nearly as long, and ran silently. It had only a couple dozen bins, and despite having no visible intake, envelopes still filled up the slots.
I worked for a while, and the bins kept threatening to overflow, but never did jam; after a bit, the machine kept running but no more envelopes came out, and I settled down on the rightmost seat on the couch.
Two more people came out and settled on the couch, and they decided to lay down. The one in the middle leaned against my legs, and the one on the right against the person in the middle.