Coming Back

COMING BACK
By Talashira

Bars.

Why are there bars on the door?

Everything was blurry; he squinted things into focus. Glancing around, he realized he was on the floor in the corner of a very cold, very small room. And the door was made of bars.

With a soft groan, he pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled a moment. He was confused. Where am I?

He remembered a little bit now. He remembered being worried that his friend was late. His friend should have been home a long time ago. He remembered trying to leave to go look for him, but not being able to find a way out.

He remembered the man who came in the front door. A big man, a new man who wasn't supposed to be coming into his friend's house. He remembered being angry, and scared. He remembered the man touching him, and it hurt for a second; then the man got darker, and went so black he couldn't see the man anymore.

And now he was here, in this place. Not big, but definitely new, and definitely not his friend's house.

He moved slowly to the door made of bars. He touched them gingerly. Cold. Very cold.

Looking through them, he strained for a sight of something he knew; but all was unfamiliar. And his friend was still nowhere in sight.

Someone else was, though. A girl. A little girl with a dolly in her hand, who came right up to his bars and stood staring in at him. He was scared of her. Scared of this little girl, because she was new. He didn't like new things. They brought other new things with them. Like the big man, and this cold place.

She reached toward the bars, and he backed away as quickly as his old, painful legs would allow. She spoke, quietly. "I don't want to hurt you. I want to be your friend."

Friend. Not his friend. He only had one friend, and she was not he. He didn't move any closer.

The little girl looked sad. She gazed at him for another moment, then turned and wandered off, past more doors with bars, until he couldn't see her anymore.

He could hear crying coming from behind one of the other doors. He couldn't see who was inside, but he heard it. It made him want to cry, too.

Where is my friend? he wondered.

Then a lady was standing at his barred door. He was scared again. But she didn't try to talk to him. She was talking to the little girl, who had returned to look at him through the bars some more.

He didn't understand all of what they said, but he recognized some words. His friend had said them a few times. Owner. Heart attack. Dog. Old. Put to sleep. The little girl looked even sadder, and they soon left again.

He went back to the corner and gingerly lowered himself to the ground. After curling into a ball and tucking his furry tail around his back legs, he sighed quietly and closed his eyes. His friend would come, he was sure of it. And then he would feel those loving hands petting him once more.