He took the cap off of the medicine and rearranged the items on his desk. The sky was falling away into a colored puddle as menacing clouds floated harmlessly up from the horizon and the sun threw light on his front door. He timidly stepped outside and burned in the sunset that soaked his world in the beautiful melancholy only felt by old dogs during dusk in New Mexico. Dog. That seemed to fit.
Tonight was his night. He would crawl into his own abyss to shake off the fleas and vermin from his past life. His reinvention would be pure. It would involve no reminiscing of the filth he walked in prior to this night with the hungry pink sky. He would take his medicine, shut off the lights, and wait for the horror to consume him. He would beg the demons to rend him in two, to skin him, to pluck from his entrails and to feast on the dead heart inside of his chest. He took the cap off of his medicine. But before he drank, he thumbed the label once to meet his maker, in a sense. Rum.
“Rum, rum, as fast as you can, can’t be sober and still a good man.” -The cries of his friends in youthful rebellion as they drank between classes during school. Now it all seems unfamiliar and detestable. Dog has always shared a room with the Devil. If the Devil wasn’t making one of Dog’s friends embody the grotesqueness of life then the Devil was focusing his energies more locally. He paid rent to live with the Devil and the Devil got to have his brain.
The Devil demanded a great flood be cast upon Dog. And that nothing would come into this new ark Dog was to sail through his life upon. His new ark would sail serene oceans and coast on gentle breezes – after the storm came. Dog knew he needed the storm. He took the cap off his medicine and he let the heart of agony bleed into his lips. The only trinket from his past he would bring was an epithet.
Dog. That seemed to fit.