Biscuits
by K. A. Laity
"You
should have been nicer to me," Carlotta said
as she stood over me with the tire iron.
"I see
that now." I tried to get up, but my leg
kept making that terrible crunching sound.
Nonetheless I persisted. "It's not too late.
I could mend my ways."
A feeble
attempt that; one she wasn't buying.
Carlotta
smirked. "I'm taking the cash. I'm going to
Tenerife." She paused and then smiled.
Something in its cold glow should have warned me.
"I'm taking Malcolm, too."
That hurt more
than the puncture in my lung.
"He won't
go. He'd never trust you."
Carlotta
laughed and tossed the iron into the trunk with
me. The tip caught my broken wrist and it
shrieked with pain, which only made her laugh
harder. She leaned in and said with obvious
relish, "He'll come wagging his tail behind
him."
"Don't do
it," I hissed, but she closed the lid on my
protests. I heard the engine start, then the car
jerked into motion. I wished the pain would bring
me swift oblivion. It was just too much. I could
forgive her betrayal, but my dog?
That broke my
heart.
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