Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26112985-20150816221245

The micropasta is as follows...

Lost Dog

A couple days ago I lost my dog, and I’m scared to think of what will happen if I don’t ever see him again.

It was a glorious Sunday morning, and I was in the park, training Rocco. He’s always been such a good dog. I don’t care how many people look at me funny when I’m coaching him. When we were almost done for the day he licked my face excitedly and I laughed before sitting down briefly on a bench and taking a few refreshing gulps of ice cold water.

When I looked up again, he was gone.

I have to admit, I lost it. As soon as I realized he was not in my immediate vicinity, I got up quickly, with my heart thudding. I called his name desperately, but got no response. I went up to random people who I didn’t know and asked them if they had seen Rocco. They all just looked at me helplessly and shook their heads, with pity in their eyes.

When I got home I went straight to the printer and started making posters for a lost dog, complete with a recent picture and phone number. Then, I spent the rest of the day tacking them up all over town. Now I can only sit here and wait for the phone to ring. I have gotten three calls since Sunday, but none of them have anything to do with Rocco.

As I am reading a book in my living room my cell phone rings, I snatch it up and accept the call. An elderly voice from the other end says “Hello?” With trembling fingers I respond “Yes, I’m right here.” I can hear a throat being cleared before the man on the other end continues, “Ma’am, I think I’ve found your dog.” Relief rushes through me and I say “Oh thank god, please bring him to me now.” There is a slight pause. “Would you like me to feed him before—?”

“No!” I almost shout, “Just get him to me right now… please.” I told the man my address, and he agreed to meet me in fifteen minutes. When he gets here, a senior citizen of about seventy with graying hair, I thanked him profusely before ushering him out the door. Then I turned to Rocco.

<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "TimesNewRoman","serif"">I lead him down into the basement and turn on the light. The man tied up on the other end of the room instantly begins to scream through his blindfold. It’ll do no good, the walls are completely soundproofed. That’s what he’ll get for lusting away at women who are far too young for him, when I give Rocco the motion he lunges and mauls the man, just like I showed him how in my training. As the blood flies and the flesh tears, I turn and mount the stairs, going for the pick and shovel I keep in my shed outside. <ac_metadata title="Micropasta (492 Words) entitled &quot;Lost Dog&quot; please review if you have the time!"> </ac_metadata>