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Blood Fix Part 2
The little dog ran away from the house, the screams fading into the night far behind it. Its white curly hair was caked in blood and dirt. It hurt, it burned, a fire spreading form the open wound where the thing had attacked it, it trembled and stumbled, and finally howled deep into the night. It lay on the ground shivering looking up at the moon, which the light from seemed to burn into its eyes, he howled again in anguish. Somewhere another dog returned its call. It shook, foam starting to build in its mouth. He rocked back and growled yet again in pain. Then it saw another dog coming though some low bushes, looking at it, trying to decide it the little dog would be easy prey.
It was a pit bull, and growled angrily at the little poodle. The poodle looked at the pit staring down at it and snarled, drawing a return snarl from the pit. The pit moved closer to the poodle as the poodle slowly stumbled to its feet. The poodle began to advance on the pit, baring its teeth and growling loudly, the foam dripping from its fur. The pit advance to the left of the poodle attempting to expose the little dog’s neck, but the poodle kept coming straight at the pit. The pit paused and stepped back, growling from deep within its chest. The poodle sprung at the pit, mouth open, and a high pitched roar coming from it as it connected with the pit. The pit jumped back and the poodle landed on the ground right before it. The pit jumped forward hoping to pin the little dog down.
The poodle sprung to its feet with speed that obviously surprised the larger dog, and began ripping into the soft flesh at the top of the pit bull’s front legs. The pit bull howled in surprised pain, feeling a burning sensation crawl through its chest. It howled as it shook itself free and began to turn and flee from the little dog. The poodle barked and started to pursue the larger dog whose size enabled it to quickly escape the little dog.
He woke slowly, weakly, fatigued even though he had slept; the woman in his dream had loved him, cherished him, and wanted him. Hadn’t she? He tried to sit up but was unable to do so. He felt strangely tired, not hung-over but a total exhaustion controlled him, trapped and entangled him. His arms and legs would not respond to his desires, moving his hands and feet were an unbearable chore. Somewhere far, or was it near, he could hear the sounds of police cars.
“Rest,” said a voice from somewhere in the fog of reality.
He focused again and tried to turn to see where the voice was coming from but found himself alone in the room, his room, his and Angela’s room. How had he gotten here, they had just broken up, last thing he remembered was drinking at the bar. Then the dream and the wonderful exotic woman of his dream. Looking around the pain of the day before shot though him like shrapnel from a hand grenade. They had been a couple the morning before, then the fight, the realization that she had not been truthful with him. He felt like a fool, what was he doing in her bed. He hoped he hadn’t made matters worse, when he left the day before, he swore he would never return.
He forced his right arm up and to his brow, his head pounded, he tried to swallow but was unable to do so. The very action shot pain throughout his body. His hand went to his neck and he tried to massage the pain away. After a few unsuccessful moments he raised his hand away, revealing dried reddish brown flakes that hung from his fingers like the last leaves of fall. He brought his hand to his face and looked closely at it. Blood?
“Rest,” again the voice came to him, its silent command ringing in his ears. Why was this voice so familiar, it wasn’t the inner voice you often hear when you are trying to figure something out without speaking out loud. It was a calm cool collected voice, but at the same time controlling. He struggled with the thought of getting up, but at the same time felt he should just lay there resting heeding the command that seemed to overwhelm him.
Finally his free will seemed to win out and he rolled his legs off the bed, his body ached as if he had been in a fight and taken a severe beating. His head throbbed and his knees buckled under his weight, he was able to settle himself back on the bed, sitting there staring at a picture of Angela and himself that they had taken last year at the carnival. He wanted to hate her, but for some reason the pain seemed less today then yesterday. The woman of his dream was the only one he felt he owed his love to now.
“Rest, get back your strength.” It was her voice, had the dream driven him insane?
He got up and stumbled his way to the door. He opened it slowly and walked down the hall toward to the kitchen which was off of the living room. He figured if he could get a drink of water it would help his throat severely. As soon as he walked up to the living room, the fatigue melted away. The room was in shambles, and lying in the center of it was Angela. Standing behind her was the woman of his dreams, Chloe.
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