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Papa Lawrence Peters
It was a stupid mistake and I made it. The dog knew it was there but I fell into it. Broke my leg. And as I look above into the hole I've fallen into, I called the dog but she wouldn't come. She loved me; but she wasn't as stupid as me. She knew where life was and wasn't as willing as I was to lose it. I could hear her whining; whether it was for the stupid human who was warned or for the life about to lose it was uncertain... she was a dog and at the heart of it, it really didn't matter. I pulled a lighter from my pocket and went to lit a cig-- cancer wasn't going to kill me now. I looked around for something else to light but all I could see was the snow, snow all around me. A real fire was useless. There was no way I'd escape, even if I had a forest down here with me it wouldn't be enough to burn a hole big enough to save me. So instead I reached into my pocket and pulled out my last joint... at least I'd be able to console myself with the clear lucidness it would bring to my situation. All getting high would tell me was that I was fucked, more fucked than I'd ever been, in a situation no amount of clever stoned thinking would get me out of. The dog smelled the familiar smell and whined even more loudly. She thought I'd given up. Which I had. Cold, cold seeped in, numbing me more than the pot. I thought of my family, my friends, the things that I'd done, but nothing helped me. They were far away and so was I, a bitter consoling thought don't you know. Every time I even thought of my leg it was fire, fire to move it, fire that burned and hurt, fire that would drain my life and soul if I just left it, so left it I did, letting the cold take over. I woke to the feeling of the dog licking my face. I hadn't been as lost as I thought. The fire came back. I heard voices and shouts. I lived to feel them pull me from my snowy grave. I didn't learn anything, except that I was just as stupid as ever. But I did learn to listen to that damned dog a little better. And I secretly hoped that one day I'd do the same for her. If she ever were as stupid as I was that day. She didn't lose hope, but I did.
For papa and the pretenders, and that some things are better left dead. Sometimes there is no sense in going back.
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"Kind of takes me back a few years...way back even...but mostly this story reminded me of Jack London's "To Build a Fire" but with a different twist. But the dog is still there." -- Dimitry.
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