The problem is that they don't understand.
They don't understand what it's like to be sick all the time -
They don't understand what it's like to be sad all the time -
They don't understand what it's like to be alone all the time -
The problem is that they don't understand -
Not like Gregory does.
Jennifer still writes her letters, but they're not like they were before.
Now, they're filled with stories about that dog.
Now, they're filled with lies.
Now, she doesn't much care to read them at all.
Jennifer won't listen to reason -
Not like Gregory does.
Which stings worse, I wonder?
Her face, or her pride?
All Jennifer had to do was give the dog away -
It was a simple choice to make -
But Jennifer doesn't understand the concept of loyalty -
Not like Gregory does.
They don't ask her to play anymore.
They're mad at her now.
They're going to play a new game now, without her.
They still don't understand.
But they will -
Just like Gregory does.
The sounds he makes are halfway between a growl and a whimper.
She hits him again.
Bad dog.
She hits him again.
Bad dog.
She hits him again.
When it's all over, they'll know what it feels like -
Just like Gregory does.
The sky is a kind of miserable grey, smeared and filthy with rain-bloated clouds.
The ground is -
It's red.
It's red all over.
And so are they, and so is he, and when she looks down, she sees that so is she.
Only Jennifer, watching from the doorway, is still the same.
She starts across the yard, sloshing through the rain and the -
the -
and the swirling, sickening smell of pennies.
She has to make it to Jennifer -
Before Gregory does.