Sparks of Insanity

Haphazard Explorations & Experiments In Fiction

Hair of the Dog

‘I wanted to kill myself a week ago. Now all I want to do is live.’

Sitting on the last step at his front door, holding a a .45 calibur handgun in the same hand he rests his head in, this is all he can think about. The contrast between then, only a short time ago, and now, empowered and electric for the revelation he’s had since then.

‘Soon. I have to do it again soon. This is why I’m still breathing… this is why I was born.’

The dog he always pretended to love is in the house now, and it’s in pieces. From beginning to end, the process of hacking it up was messy. In the same way that a boy gets covered in mud while he plays and can’t be bothered to mind the mess, especially for all the fun he’s had while making it, Henry isn’t too concerned about the blood of his skittish old friend. It’s all over him and he’ll have to wash it off before going anywhere, but the whole experience was to enjoyable to be spoiled by that.

‘It needs to be a person torn apart this time, and it needs to be tonight.’

Getting up and heading towards the bathroom and the shower, he smiles for the first time in months. No more job and no more girlfriend, but Henry can’t understand anymore; why had that affected him so badly when he first lost them? He didn’t know, but standing naked under the shower head, turning the water on, he’s doesn’t care about “why” he feels better. Just that he does, and that it cannot end, not now that he’s discovered his calling in life, the path that will give it a meaning it’s never had before.

‘I owe that damn dog everything for this.’

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“And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
~William Shakespeare

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