I stare at the men in uniform patrolling the living room, a sunken aura revolving around them. Alex’s body lay there lifeless, in an unattractive crimson pool. Her eyes staring into nothing and thoughts sauntering off the edge of the universe.

There’s a bullet hole by the left side of her head and her body is bent like a french curve. Her hair isn’t packed in a firm bun as her night routine dictates and I could guess that the slight frown framing her lips was from that imperfection. Not the awareness of death at 24.

One of the men has a silver badge pinned firmly on his breast pocket. He must be the Alpha, I conclude. He circles Alex’s pool of death, cocking his head periodically from side to side.

“Looks like suicide.”

“No, its not. Her ex, John, shot her.”

But he doesn’t listen to me. Not even a glance my way.

So I watch still, reckoning I can aid by leading him to clues. John bolted out the back door after haphazardly tucking the gun into Alex’s palm. I walk to the Alpha and tug on his trousers.

‘’Let’s go to the back.”

It’s muddy out back. Alex was going to start a garden.

He glares at me. I try pulling him towards the back and he shoves me away. I am irrelevant.

But I am a witness. The only one.

So I try again. He seems old, with a sprinkling of lazy. All that belly fat and thinning hair screamed 40. I am thinking I can overpower him.

“Let’s go to the back please. There might be a footprint!”

I pull harder, hoping he would budge.

“Somebody get this dog out of here!”

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Comments
  • U2

    First????????

    April 27, 2017
  • Bkd

    I wonder if I’d still look at my dog the same after reading this. Imagine how many secrets pets hold.
    Hmmmm!!!

    April 27, 2017
  • Miracle Nwokedi

    Awwwn. Poor dog. U2, your story is fabulous. Reminds me of Beverly Hills Chihuahua.

    April 28, 2017
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