Past

Past

It's a typical Saturday morning. I sit up on my bed and lazily stretch out my stiff limbs. I pick up a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from the floor and hastily pulled them on. Today is my friend's birthday and I have yet to bake a cake for her. Before I start doing anything, I need to have breakfast. I decide to have a quick bowl of Cheerios since I hadn't eaten cereal for a while. I pour myself a bowl and grab the milk from the fridge. As I unscrewed the cap, a putrid scent immediately filled the air, causing me to gag and cough. Ugh... The milk must have gone bad. It's probably because I left it sitting in the fridge for so long. I quickly replace the lid and proceed to throw it out.

Oh great, I need milk for the cake. I'll have to go to the store later to pick some up. I let out a sigh of exasperation at the thought of having to go out of my way just for some milk. Well, since I'm going there, I'd might as well pick up some sprinkles or something.

Abandoning my bowl of cereal, I settle for some toast and butter instead. I waste no time in finishing my breakfast and I put on a coat and sneakers before heading to the store.

It's rather sunny, as most springtime mornings are. Fluffy clouds dot the sky and an occasional breeze rustles the nearby trees. I suppose a walk would do me some good, I think to myself as I turn a corner. I walk a couple more steps before stopping in my tracks. A couple meters in front of me, just to the side of the pathway, lies a dog. A stray dog by the looks of it. Its fur is matted with patches of it missing. Clearly, it hadn't been able to find any food as I could see the outline of its spine and ribs showing through its skin. I step back and squeeze my eyes shut, unable to look at the dog. My meager breakfast threatens to make its way back up and I press my hand to my mouth, swallowing thickly. I glance back in its direction and I catch a glimpse of its face. Its eyes are dark and hopeless. Eyes that know no other escape other than death.

I know those eyes well.

Unable to stand there any further, I break into a run. I need to find another way to get to the store. I dash into an alley way that leads to the forest. I'm pretty sure that there is a way to get to the store through a little known forest path. As I run, my mind wanders back to my childhood.

I'm twelve years old and cradling my beloved pet dog to my chest. He's a stray dog that I picked up off the streets but I love him nonetheless. I've been taking care of this dog against the will of my parents. We've been together for several years. He's always been with me but over the past couple of weeks, he's been getting sicker. He's barely eating or drinking and whatever he manages to eat would always come back up. I've tried asking my parents to take him to the vet but they tell me that he is not "our dog", and even if he was, they don't have enough money to afford a vet anyway. I'm forced to watch my dog slowly die and I can't do anything to help him.

I gently stroke his head and run my fingers through his salt and pepper fur. I can feel the bumps and ridges of his bones under his skin. He looks up at me with his beautiful grey eyes but they're empty and hopeless. They are the eyes of a creature who has given up and is waiting for death.

Several days go by like this and I decide that I need to end my dog's suffering. It wasn't an easy decision but I knew that it had to be done. On the evening of a summer day, I carry my dog out to his favourite spot at a river in a nearby forest. I lay him down gently by the running water and stroke his head. He looks up at me and the emptiness seems to have disappeared, I think he knows what is going to happen. I could see calmness and peacefulness deep in his grey eyes and I had to bite back my tears. I step back and grip the pistol. My hand is shaking but I manage to aim.

"I'm so sorry, Jackie. Goodbye."

I hesitate for a only moment longer before pulling the trigger.

I jolt back to reality as the bang of the gun echoed in my memories. I'm in the forest path now, running, still running from my memories. I killed him. I had known that I had to do it, that it would best to just end it quickly for Jackie, but I still couldn't forgive myself. Years passed, and, for a while, I thought I had finally put it behind me. But now, as I'm running with the sound of my blood rushing through my ears and guilt threatening to overwhelm me, do I realize that I've never been free from my past.

In my frantic state, I don't see the low branch coming towards my face and a sharp pain runs through by nose. I slow down and bring a hand to my face. It comes away bloody. The sudden pain seems to halt my panic attack and the adrenaline drains from my system. Defeated, I sit down and lean my back against a nearby tree. My nosebleed shows no signs of stopping anytime soon and the blood is making its way down my face and onto my lips. The metallic taste makes me nauseous. I stare at my blood stained hands. Exactly the same as all those years ago.

I killed by best friend.

Tears fall onto my palms, making the dried blood run.