soft towel. The blood seeped into the green. He wrapped the dog in
the towel and lifted the bundle like a child as he opened the sliding
door out onto the back deck. He walked into the hot yard, placed
the dog behind the birch then ran back inside, his body seized by
momentum. Again he came out, holding a long spade in his right
hand. Alex was a small child and the tool dwarfed him as he raised
it, placed his feet on the blade like a pogo stick and punctured the
ground. But the soil was unwilling to break, reluctant to give the
dog a place. The blade worked faster, tearing dry summer grass
and dead soil out in small clumps. Alex’s hands began to ache.
His sweat mixed with his tears as he compulsively checked his
barely expanding despite the pile of dirt and worms growing beside
him. His mother would see the bloody dog; she wouldn’t believe
Alex and he would be sent to juvy along with the vandals and
shoplifters. The dog had to get in the ground. Alex placed his feet
in the grave, testing its depth. It was shallow, but Alex could no
the beagle once more and placed it in the grave behind the tree.
He arranged its thin white limbs and gathered the towel around the
body. Alex pushed the dirt back into place with the spade, careful
not to hit the animal’s head with a stray rock or a heavy clump of
dirt. He checked his watch. Mom would be home soon. What if she
saw him before he escaped to his room? What would she make of
his heaving chest, his red face, his dirty clothes? He patted the soil
the garage before he shut himself in his bedroom.
As he peeled the clothes off of his slight body, the garments
sticking like the wrapper on melted chocolate, he could hear his
mother’s sedan pulling into the driveway. He choked back a yelp
his mother open the front door, place her keys in the blue ceramic
bowl and walk towards the kitchen. His head leaned forward,
his hands balanced on either side of the sink. Mom called from
downstairs, her voice unraveling towards Alex’s room as he
submerged his head in cold water.
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