We had no choice. It lay there, begging with eyes that reflected back our image. I could hear it whimper as it rolled back and forth along the mud-splattered grass. We had to end it; there was no choice to be made. I looked to my left to read the girl’s thoughts. She was foreign to me then, though we are well connected now. Her eyes glistened similar to its, but did not reflect. I’m no good with body language or goodbyes, so this was a very awkward situation. Did she expect for me to act, or was she simply delaying the inevitable? I turned back to stare into its eyes, so entrancing. The fear and intelligence were clearly visible through these shining windows. I began to feel pity, which made me feel weak. A rage then ensued, for I was supposed to be the superior here, not it. Before its eyes had time to blink, the knife I held was lodged into its throat. I hated myself then, and still do now. I still cry in her arms every night when remembering this scene.
No comments:
Post a Comment