AN: So my ex is in town-you know, the type that drunk-texts and always wants to meet up 'as friends' and shit like that? *rolls eyes* So I'll be at home, avoiding running into him and writing. Good news for you, I suppose. All together, now: thank you, Scary's childish ex!
Christineoftheopera-Oh, this was in Arlen. They never did trace it to me-she was already old at the time. A few people...suspected...but there was no proof.
Just-Me-and-My-Brain-You'd better miss me, bitch. I'm not in therapy for you, am I? I love you, too, cupcake. But I might just start. DON'T YOU DARE I'LL KILL YOUR SORRY ASS!
Johanna Crane-I'm just special. Oh, you're special, all right. What's that supposed to mean. What? You know what. I really don't. Care to share with the class? Humph.
He has time to take a deep breath before he goes under, beating frantically at the water even as it pulls him down into the algae.
He can't swim. Why should he bother? There's no one to swim with and besides, Arlen's ponds and small stream are disgusting. Only an idiot would go swimming in those.
They grabbed him on his way home from school, chattering about giving him swimming lessons 'just in case'. He tried to run, but that didn't work out so well.
So now here he is, the water a cool kiss on the bruises, unable to breathe and slowly beginning not to care. He won't be missed. Maybe he'll just…stop…fighting it.
There's a commotion above his head and he hears muffled screams. He should care, but he's tired…
Something grabs him by the shirt collar and he is dragged through the water, onto the shore. He spits water, gagging at the sickeningly sweet taste, and a warm, wet tongue licks his face.
The dog. The red dog that he feeds when it comes around. It chases the crows sometimes.
"Hello, dog." It wags at him, skinnier than ever, and he tries to pet it. He can't lift his hand yet.
It sits down by his head, tongue lolling out, happy. He takes a deep breath, spits up more water, and tries to pet it again. He manages it this time.
THE END